3

I emerged from my closeted musings into the verbose baker’s wake, trailing him back along the hallway, following his trail of still-frozen pastries and piping hot obscenities till our paths diverged at the wildly swinging kitchen door. I continued along, my bag on my shoulder and hand to my throbbing temple, till I reached the brightness of the coffee house painted in stark daylight, and simply halted at the end of the line of the ever-present coffee horde. The fact that this particular horde had the slightly muddled and toe-tapping quality of the early-morning-before-traffic-gets-bad commuters rather than the over-caffeinated-determined-to-be-relaxed air of the late night caffinators struck me finally. I absorbed the plethora of pant suits and men in loafers and felt panic begin to rise. For you see, it had been Friday night when I ventured down the hallway only to remerge on what a rashly refolded newspaper, left stranded on a nearby table, confirmed was a Monday. Suddenly, the sunlight pouring so rashly though the large windows struck me like a cascade of fractured crystal: radiant and dangerous.

I suppose I was standing there for some time, staring dumbly at the light refracting through the windows and reflecting off of the antique mirrors. I was distracted for it seemed to me, in that moment, that I could almost discern the path of those stray rays, caught like so many fireflies in that mirrored room. There seemed to me, almost to be spider webs of light strung throughout the room, spinning, spinning, spinning; catching and connecting every lustrous object within. I was following on ray-web as it bounced from mirror to pastry case to glasses, when I realized that the glasses belonged to the tattooed cashier and that all of a sudden, everyone was staring at me staring at light.

I was of course holding up the line. And this is simply not done. Yes, yes, coffee houses are designed for socialization but that is after you have a coffee beverage securely in hand. While in line, conversation must give way to proper and efficient cuing up. One must be ready for the barista behind the bar, still mostly obscured by the cue, to call out your regular drink with a question mark at the end. One must be vigilant, answering questions about pastries and breakfast foods long before coming before the all mighty cashier who has somehow absorbed your order and who now has you all rung up. One must be ready with cash or card in hand; ready for a polite volley of chitchat whist change is made. Laggers or indecisive morning dwellers will incite a cacophony of rustling further back in line and put that rather horrible look of uneasiness on the barista’s faces, who like so many zoo keepers, hope to keep the monkey cage quiet.

Behind me the rustling was morphing into grumbling and I, grasping for my purpose in the moment, blurted out, “Have you found a cell phone?” This question pertaining not in the least to coffee, while serving my purpose, incited further unrest in line behind me. After some uncomfortable moments of searching a cell phone was produced from beneath the counter; I claimed it as mine and made my escape, as a swell of pre-caffeinated commuters claimed the space before the cashier, cash in hand, chit chat on the ready.