At a roadhouse near the Tahoe ski resort area...
Looking around the Kirkwood Inn, I could tell it was a place to order coffee, not espresso. So that's what I ordered.
As I settled in to a breakfast of pancakes and coffee, I listened as an impressively loud skier-dude sat down and asked for a latte. The waitress said she thought the machine might be broken and gave him a look. She paused significantly. She gave him every opportunity to change his mind. "Well, if the machine's working, then I'd like a latte," said the dude.
"Okay," said the waitress. She took his breakfast order and went back to the kitchen.
I continued to scarf down pancakes, using coffee to ease them down my throat. A couple of minutes later, the waitress returned to the dude's table.
"The machine is broken," she said. Her voice seemed to hold genuine regret.
"Oh. Uh," said the dude. He gulped. His world was falling apart. As if he were a chipmunk trying to cross a road, suddenly seeing/feeling the thunder of wheels rushing by at 60mph, knowing he must halt his forward progress, but what then? He didn't know what to do. He was sitting perhaps two meters from me, but I could fell him tense.
"Would you like some coffee instead?" Asked the waitress. "Oh," said the dude, and you could feel the tension leaving him, "yeah."
"Okay," said the waitress. She took a step, grabbed a cup, filled it with coffee and set it down. She went back to the kitchen.