Making a Cuppa

Hi all! So, I thought I would share another travel writing essay that I worked on. It's not as good as the other one because I didn't spend a lot of time on this one, but it is a bit of a contrast between the US working enviroment and the one in the UK. I do have to admit that not everything in this story is exactly true. Yes, the women were fighting over who they would sleep with, but they didn't really talk to me. I was eavesdropping, although they knew that I was listening at the time.

Also, I couldn't remember some of their names, so they are made up, except Pauline. She really was my supervisor, but I really don't remember struggling to make a cup of tea. I also only ever made one cup for anyone in the office. The steps that I used in making tea were real. My theatre teacher really did give us steps because someone made his tea so terribly he thought that he would give us a lesson in that rather than theatre. But, despite all that is not completely true, you still get the gist. Happy reading!

Making a Cuppa

“When I look through my own recipe for the perfect cup of tea, I find no fewer than eleven outstanding points. ….These are not the only controversial points to arise in connexion with tea drinking, but they are sufficient to show how subtilized the whole business has become. It is worth paying attention to such details as warming the pot and using water that is really boiling, so as to make quite sure of wringing out of one's ration the twenty good, strong cups of that two ounces, properly handled, ought to represent.”- George Orwell, A Nice Cup of Tea

I was working on a spreadsheet of names and phones numbers. My eyes started to go crossed and blurred at the sight of so many letters and numbers. None of it seemed to make sense anymore. I pushed my chair away from my desk and rubbed my eyes. I had been staring at the computer screen for over three hours without taking a break, and my dry eyes were paying for it. Everyone else in the office didn’t seem to be taking their jobs quite as seriously, so I took the opportunity to get a cup of tea from the office kitchen.

“Chelsea, would you mind getting me a cuppa while you’re up?” Pauline, my internship supervisor, gave me a friendly smile when she requested her cup of tea.

“Of course, would anyone else like anything while I’m up?” In my two weeks working at the office of 4Children, a non-profit organization run to benefit children of the United Kingdom, I had learned always to ask if anyone would like anything if you are getting up to get something from the kitchen. I had been asked the question, “Would you like something while I’m up?” so many times in just four days, I was beginning to wonder if it was a form of procrastination.

As I made the short trip to the kitchen, I noticed two women chatting at their desk. Actually, most of the room could hear them. It was a Monday afternoon, and most of the office was anxious to avoid any sort of work, so the staff heavily encouraged any form of conversation. “So,” a young blonde woman started, “If you had to pick just one celebrity to sleep with, who would it be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. There are just too many juicy ones aren’t there?” The dark-haired girl grinned and slapped the blonde’s arm.

“Oh, being cheeky, are we?” Both women turned to the sound of a new voice sitting thirty feet away. The older motherly figure sat at her desk howling with laughter. The entire office was now intrigued by the conversation. The graying mother answered the question with ease, “Well, it would have to be Johnny Depp, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Marlene. He’s practically 30 years younger than you,” The blonde rolled her eyes playfully; I could tell she wanted to goad Marlene on.

“Oh, fuck it. Who cares? I will never shag him just like you will never shag him. But, he is delicious looking. Probably bloody fantastic in bed.”

I gave them an exaggerated shocked look. Marlene turned to me and gave me a wink, “Sorry, Chelsea. Not used to hearing such language?”

I had become quite accustomed to curse words and suggestive conversations now and again in the office, but to hear it from a woman older than my grandmother made me do a double take. I could see myself walking by office desks in an American work place, hearing conversations like, “The humidity is brutal today,” or “How about that game last night?” or maybe, “Did you see that new Johnny Depp movie. He is so good-looking!” I wouldn’t mind these conversations—all almost too boring to attract my attention. Americans were so careful about everything they said because one wrong step could result in offending someone else.

Americans have the stereotype that the British are prim and proper—daintily eating their crumpets and sipping their tea (pinky finger extended, of course), saying things like “Cheerio, chap!” while dressed in their Sunday best. On the other hand, the British imagine Americans as cowboys saying “Howdy, y’all!” or as the lazy, unintelligent worker that sits and does nothing all day. The American work ethic was nothing like the approach the British took; the British say we work too hard. Americans say hard work is the American dream. Either way, the stereotypes weren't completely accurate.

My eyebrows rose at her language, but I chose not to remark on her cheeky comment. “Oh, carry on. Don’t mind little old me. I won’t be scarred for life or anything,” I gave her a cheesy pouty, and she laughed at my sarcastic look. I continued on my way to the kitchen, and behind me I heard a few more women start in on the conversation as well. I shook my head. It baffled me that they could start conversations in the office that had absolutely nothing to do with work.

I started to make the hot water in electrical steamer, and then I realized I had never made a cup of tea for my boss before. I had no idea how she liked it. I knew the English were big on milk in teas, so I found a packet of some dark tea in the cupboard and placed it in the bottom of a mug. I tried to remember back to the week before when my theatre teacher lectured the class on how to make the perfect cup of tea. He had made sure to make his points clear: #1—the water had to be vigorously boiling before being poured into the cup.

I don’t know if these tricks were passed down or if any of the tips really mattered, but in that moment I really hoped that it would help me conquer that little cup of tea; I wanted that sense of pride that I had made my boss a great cuppa. But I also just wanted to know that I could fit in—their meal times revolved around tea, their late afternoon chats always involved a cuppa, and I wanted to be standing next to them talking about which celebrity wore too much makeup or had on a hideous dress. I didn’t want to be the American intern for the semester. I wanted to be just the intern.

The water was heating up quickly, and I could see the steam rising from the spout. I could hear it boiling, but decided that it wasn’t vigorous enough. I waited until it sounded like popcorn popping and then took it off the electric base.

Tip #2: Always pour the water from high above the cup with the teabag sitting at the bottom. Making sure the teabag was flat in the mug, I took the steaming water and held the cup to the counter while I poured the water from a foot in the air. There was no one else in the kitchen, but I still worried that I looked completely ridiculous, so I poured the water quickly and set the pot down.

Tip #3: There is a perfect amount of time to let the tea bag simmer in the water. I let the tea bag sit for exactly four minutes because according to my teacher, “Four minutes is the perfect amount of time to let tea sit.” I watched the hands on my watch tick by slowly while I also flipped through The Sun, one of the many newspapers on the table. I glanced back at my watch and realized it had been more than four minutes, so I rushed to the cup and yanked out the tea bag, sighing in relief that it hadn’t sat for five minutes because then it might be too strong.

Tip #4: Don’t put too much milk in, but not too little. Next, I poured in the fat free milk from one of the twenty or so bottles sitting in the fridge. Milk and tea disgusted me at first—it didn’t seem quite right. What happened to sugar? What was so special about milk? What was too much milk? I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just waited until the mixture looked more like light brown coffee rather than the green tea I was used to. The creaminess of the mixture reminded me of the hard caramel candies, the white wrapping through the brown in a heavy streak.

Tip #5: Don’t put in sugar unless asked. I wasn’t sure what the Brits had against sugar. Maybe as an American I was desensitized to sugar. Maybe it was too sweet with milk and sugar. Maybe the Brits liked to taste their tea rather than artificially flavor it. Whatever it was, I did not put any in, but quickly wondered if maybe she really did want sugar.

I was unsure of my tea-making skills, but I didn’t have a choice but to serve the tea. Carefully picking up the two cups of tea that I had expertly made, I made my way back to my desk. I set the first cup next to Pauline; she gratefully accepted the cup with a thanks. I went around to my desk and nervously awaited her reaction. She brought the cup to her lips, took a small sip, and placed it back on her desk. She went back to work, editing one of the newest press releases or news articles, I assumed.

I stared stupidly, hoping for any kind of feedback. She caught my gaze. She smiled, but it quickly turned into a playfully concerned look and said, “Don’t you need to be working on updating those press releases?”