She Just Wanted a Coffee

I sat in the coffee shop the other day. I had a seat by the window because I liked to watch people come in and out. I like to see what kind of car they drive, or if they ride a bike, or if they walk. I like people-watching in general. I especially like it when I’m writing and have a moment to myself when I pause and tune back in with reality.

A gray car pulled up into the parking lot and sort of hit the curb. It pulled into the nearest spot and the driver sat there for a moment. Finally, a girl emerged. She was of average height, with average hair, and quite honestly had an average face. She was talking on the phone and seemed to be a bit agitated. She closed the car door, but her bag strap got stuck inside, causing all the contents of her purse to fall onto the ground.

I kind of wanted to help her, but I just watched. Thinking. Watching. She hung up the phone angrily and picked up her things, angrily. She opened the car door, slammed it back, and walked around to the other side of the car. She was assessing the damages caused by hitting the curb on the way in. Judging by her response, I presumed the damages were noticeable. She shook her head in defeat and began to walk towards the coffee shop entrance. She walked at a normal pace at first, then she slowed down and lifted her left foot. She looked under her shoe and discovered she had stepped in gum. She looked with disgust up into the sky as if to ask God, “Why me?”

She scraped her shoe on the concrete to rid herself of the sticky dilemma and proceeded to reach for the door. Just then, a tall man in a suit opened the door and they just about collided with one another. Instead, his coffee just splashed on her shoes. He kept walking; she glared at him. “Jerk,” she mumbled under her breath. I could read her lips plainly. I could somehow read her mind. She was having a shitty day and just wanted a coffee.

She walked toward the counter, looking slightly relieved and definitely ready to order. But a woman walked right in front of her and gave her order to the barista boldly, then looked back at the average girl. She didn’t acknowledge that she had cut her off. She stood there, paid for her coffee, and waited for her order.

The average girl was beyond irritated, but she held her composure. It was finally her turn; she could order her coffee. She just wanted a coffee. She placed her order. The barista said her total. She searched for her card. Where was her card? She poured the contents of her purse onto the counter, flustered, frustrated, losing it.

The barista looked a little freaked out. Then the average girl paused and looked outside at her car. I then knew she had left her card behind on the ground when her bag strap got caught in the door after she hit the curb on the way in, while she was arguing on the phone on the way here, before she stepped in gum on the way inside, before the tall man in a suit spilled coffee on her shoe, and before the woman cut in line.

So, I went to the counter, and I paid for her coffee. And she cried. Then she thanked me. She grabbed her coffee and sat at a table way in the back of the coffee shop. She sat there and she cried, and she drank her coffee. I wanted to hug her; I wanted to talk to her. But then she smiled and wiped her tears. And I thought to myself, “She was having a shitty day, and she just wanted a coffee.”