'She's obviously an art person. Good upbringing, but likes to think of herself as a rebellious type. Androgynous. A dandy. She will choose... well, me.' The certainty in Lapsang Sauchong's husky voice was absolute, and absolutely infuriating.
'Her perfume is Hermes. She obviously still has money. I doubt she rejected her family in any way. Money, artsy, young... I'd say one of us Darjeelings. First flush, even.’
'Young or not, money and family say “tradition”. Everyone might wear boho style, it's trendy. But tea is the sacred ritual. She'll choose some good old Assam, perfect with milk.’
'Money and hipster style might also mean “shopping with a conscience”. Organic. Bio. Fair-trade. Smaller, less famous brands,' argued one of the Nepal teas.
Darjeeling, as usual, pretended not to hear. Hawaiian Oolong looked at them from his luxurious, exclusives-only shelf, full of wood, stainless steel and porcelain. He obviously wanted to say something, but in this moment the customer finally reached the cashier.
'Do you have something normal? Similar to, you know, yellow Lipton?'
The teas let out a collective rustle of shock.
'She must be one of the nouveau riche,' concluded Hawaiian Oolong, sounding almost offended. ‘Or even worse—foreign!'