"Look!" says Mr. Smiley, pointing. A bright red Tesla Model S rests by the side of the road, near the faded Welcome to Beauneville sign. Betsy Flapper paces beside the car, talking animatedly on her iPhone.
"I think it's the Flapper girl," says Clotilde. "Should we stop?"
"She might be bird watching," says Mr. Smiley. "It's not nice to disturb people engaged in avian observation."
Clotilde agrees. They drive on. Truthfully, though, there is no such rule in Smiley etiquette. It's just that the Flappers make Mr. Smiley uncomfortable for some strange reason.
"What do you mean, plug it in?" Betsy shouts into her iPhone. Betsy's brand new Tesla has 265 miles on the odometer, which just happens to be the driving range. "Nobody ever said anything about plugging it in! My mother will fucking kill you!"
The customer service rep from Glen Falls Tesla is unmoved. Since the Town Meeting voted to mandate zero emission vehicles for all residents, there is a six month waiting list for cars.
Betsy ends the call angrily and stands by the side of the road, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. She's visiting Beauneville to check on the latest outlet for her franchise operation, Just Java, purveyors of craft coffee.
After about thirty minutes a dusty red tow truck rattles up the Cidertown Road from Beauneville, passes Betsy, makes a U-turn, passes Betsy again going in the other direction and pulls to the side of the road just ahead of the dead Tesla. A big young man wearing dirty coveralls slouches to the ground from the cab and slowly shambles around the back of the truck to the side of the road where Betsy stands.
"Hah y'all," says the young man, first eyeing the Tesla, then Betsy.
Betsy rolls her eyes. "I'm an important businesswoman and they send me Gomer Pyle."
"Mah name ain't Gomer, ma'am, it's Jimmy." Jimmy pulls a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his nose. He points to the Tesla. "That thar's one of them 'leck-trick thingies ain't it ma'am?"
Jimmy graduated from Beauneville Latin summa cum laude last May, and delivered a valedictory address on themes of idolatry in Paradise Lost. He wants to pursue a career in NASCAR or country music.
Betsy rolls her eyes again. "Tell me you have a Tesla charging station in town."
Jimmy shakes his head. "Nope. Ain't got one of them."
"Well you do have electricity, don't you?"
"Yup."
"So can you at least tow me in to town and plug it in? And don't scratch the fucking paint."
Betsy stomps to the back of the car, opens the trunk and retrieves her Salvatore Ferragamo Python briefcase, which contains her loaded fifteen-inch MacBook Pro and her copy of Lean In. Taking care to avoid dirtying her black Carolina Herrara Flared Doupioni Shirtdress, she gingerly climbs into the cab of the tow truck while Jimmy struggles with the hook and chain.
Meanwhile, in downtown Beauneville (if Beauneville can be said to have a downtown), Mr. Smiley pushes open the door to Just Java, the new coffee shop in town. It's across the street from Zeppelin Drugs. Ordinarily, Mr. Smiley is a loyal customer of the Cafe Venice, but today he has a yen for something new.
The sign in the window says Just Java: The Crafted Cup. Mr. Smiley likes that.
"Good morning, my name is Justin," says the young man behind the counter, "and I'll be serving you today. Welcome to Just Java. We only serve coffee made from Fair Trade coffee beans."
Mr. Smiley is pleased to learn that Just Java only serves coffee made from Fair Trade coffee beans. It tastes so much better than coffee made from Unfair Trade coffee beans.
"Thank you, I would like a Cafe Schmozzle, please."
As you know, a Cafe Schmozzle is made from warm chocolate milk, with whipped cream. And sprinkles.
Justin points to the menu board. "We just serve freshly crafted coffee, but you can choose from any of these Fair Trade beans."
The menu board displays a long list of countries Mr. Smiley doesn't know anything about. He's a little disappointed they don't have sprinkles.
"I guess I'll just have a cup of your most popular brew." When Smileys are confronted with challenging choices, they generally have what everyone else is having. This is a useful convention, except when Smileys are in groups.
Justin dutifully measures two scoops of the Extra Fancy Kona Medium Roast into the grinder, replaces the lid and presses the "on" switch.
The noise startles Mr. Smiley. "What's that noise?"
"Just grinding the coffee, sir."
Mr. Smiley ponders whether coffee beans feel pain when ground. He considers bringing this up as a topic of discussion, then decides against it. It's not nice to bring up disturbing questions.
Justin finishes grinding the coffee -- exactly twenty-two seconds -- and dumps the fine powder into the funnel of a plastic Aeropress. Pouring hot water into a beaker, he inserts a thermometer.
"What's that for?" asks Mr. Smiley.
"We use water that is exactly eighty degrees Celsius."
"Oh."
"That's one hundred seventy five degrees Fahrenheit," adds Justin, helpfully.
Mr. Smiley prefers Celsius. He doesn't want to burn his mouth.
Justin pours the water into the Aeropress. Dampening the plunger, he compresses it slowly, counting twenty seconds out loud. Removing the plunger, he pours the hot liquid into a tiny cup, places it on a saucer with a tiny spoon and positions the beverage on the counter just so. "That will be nine fifty," he says, proudly.
Mr. Smiley likes the tiny spoon. "Do you have any whipped cream?"
From Justin's expression, Mr. Smiley ascertains that whipped cream is not an option.
Gingerly, he takes a sip. His head explodes. Not literally, of course.
Later in the day, Mr. Smiley and Clotilde go for a stroll on Main Street with little Alexander. They pass Just Java; Betsy's Tesla is parked out front, with an extension cord running into the store.
Mr. Smiley describes his visit earlier in the day.
"How was it?" asks Clotilde.
Mr. Smiley ponders his customer experience. Absence of whipped cream, no sprinkles, the question of coffee beans feeling pain, tiny spoon.
"It was nice."
