PURE FICTION
Hot Coffee
A Cup to go, lasting a lifetime
“How long do you plan on ignoring me?”
I looked behind me in line, not noticing anyone I know. I returned to purging unwanted calls, voice messages and data files from my cell phone.
The line for brew was long, long enough to make me wonder if the wait was worth the coffee.
All I could think about were the fresh, hot cinnamon buns and steaming hot espresso. I was running late for work but the thought of the buttery, sweet, delicious buns against the smooth bean drink was just too much for me.
My phone clean-up was taking forever with all the work calls and texts to sort through, which worked to my advantage since I had hardly moved any closer to the counter in what seemed like ages.
“Excuse me sir, you’re next…Hey cell phone!”
The laughter was enough to distract me, causing me to look up. Once I realized there was empty expanse between me and the counter I chuckled to myself in laughing at myself. I quickly made my way up to the counter to order.
“ ‘Cell Phone?’ Pretty brutal, don’t you think?” I ask. No sooner had the words left my lips did I realize that the young barista thought me serious. She began to stutter in apology, making me feel like a fool.
“Relax, no spin-outs before I’ve had my first Joe of the day, K?” She smiled, thought a moment, then looked down immediately. “I’m serious, it’s not a big deal, I have been called much worse.”
“I really am sorry. I meant no disrespect,” she hesitated, “I actually have the same cell and thought it an easy focal point in getting your attention.”
I felt awkward. I choked at the first hint of compliment or attention, especially having a full line of audience behind me. “How about you drop the ‘Sir’ tag? I feel like my father’s here,” I reply.
She seemed to bounce back, asking for my order with a slight tilt of head. Maybe she was anxious over the growing line of customers.
“I’ll have a double red eye, neat with a cinnamon roll please.”
I tried handing her my credit card but she held up her hand in the stop gesture. I verbally objected thinking that she was going to pay for my order when she laughed, then replied back to me.
“Seems the woman at that table, pointing in focus, beat me to it. If you would like to join her, I’ll bring your order to you once it’s ready.”
Hand clapping ensued in the line behind me over my order completion, making my face blush. The stranger sitting in front of me directed me over with a hand gesture while I couldn’t help think how bored people in line must be to even take notice.
“What the hell is going on?” I whispered under my breath thinking the world a train wreck.
Arriving at the table, the brunette stood and arranged my chair as I scooted up to the table. She must have been a foot taller than me, making it even more awkward. I had never had a women seat me before and I wondered both what prompted it and what my guest thought when I did the same.
The people in line and behind the counter were totally entertained, rubbernecking until I noticed. I was nervous as hell.
“Have we met before? I’m late for work. Please allow me to pay for my order. I usually don’t warrant this kind of attention,” I rattle off in nervousness.
“Mick you’re breaking my heart. You don’t remember me? Has time been that unkind?” She looked directly into my eyes, laughed and then kicked my ankle under the table.
I was completely startled and nearly tipped my chair over backwards in reaction trying to scoot backwards. I adjusted and as I began back towards the table top, my barista was bringing me my coffee.
Unfortunately, she too jumped in reaction, and there I sat with a lap full of steaming coffee bringing tears to my eyes and pride. The dunhill was dead. Long live the queen. All I could manage to exclaim was, “Bloody Hot!”
Oh my God, it was so frigging scalding against my thighs that I was afraid to move for fear that it would make its way into the danger zone.
The whole episode was like a piece from a sitcom played out live for all the shop customers’ entertainment. This time there was no laughter or clapping, just men crossing their legs in sympathy pain while women looked on as if it was an automobile accident in motion.
The barista returned with a set of wet and dry towels but then realized she probably shouldn’t make matters worse by dabbing at my crotch.
She mouthed, “I’ll pay for cleaning,” as she bolted back to the counter area. I assumed she was referring to dry cleaning charges but I knew the shirt and suit to be a goner.
The barista and stranger crossed paths. The stranger approached me with what looked like high end sweat pants and a top in matching navy blue with pink trim. I signaled the girl behind the counter and then asked for a large bag so I might have something to keep my soaked cloths in.
To my surprise she brought both plastic and paper. This was no salmon trim on the sweat ware but bright, neon pink. I knew my day had gone from bad to worse.
I thanked both the stranger and barista in their rescue efforts.
It was eight in the morning and I wanted a single malt. Still, I was clueless as to whose pants I was going to be putting on in place of the wet wool I presently housed.
Trying to make light of the situation I looked at both of the females holding up the sweat pants and stated coyly, “I hope the pants don’t make me look fat,” but neither so much as flinched nor smiled until I got up to head to the bathroom.
Then one of them chimed, “Seems the least of your worries,” as I walked away and the other, “Shall I fetch you Depends?” The giggles followed my slow march of shame to the stalls.
With each step I felt the sensitivity of the burn on my legs and the unmistakable squish of my socks. The Girotti Oxfords hid the bean stain well but somehow the fit no longer felt quite right.
I would certainly be trending once the neon pink played upon the black patent leather uppers of the shoe. Yes I would be a real fashionista, I laughed to myself. I began to imagine what my boss might think, when I realized I was tardy for work, dreading the call and explanation. First thing’s first, as I began to disrobe within an empty stall.
The left leg looked as miserable as it felt with a golf ball size blister against angry red skin surrounding it. I managed to change with minimal discomfort and then bagged all of the evidence within the pull string plastic, with exception to the new Oxfords.
I used the hand dryer to attempt drying the leather but it proved to be a lengthy process. A gent popped through the door asking if I required aspirin or ice in proxy of the barista but I waved him off knowing it was too late for cooling and not enough for pain.
He retreated as quickly as he appeared, thankfully, for the situation was quite embarrassing enough already. I removed my wedding ring to wash my hands and arms, knowing well enough to stay away from the lower regions.
A perfect ending to the perfect storm in play, my ring made its ways into the sink, drain and finally pipe trap. Great, as if things didn’t look suspicious enough, the ring decided to take a swim.
I settled on a hand wash and damp shoes for my royal re-entrance back into the sitcom already in full bloom.
Changing my mind, I remained in the bathroom to phone work while having some privacy, or so I thought. The receptionist seemed to smile in voice which was not unusual for her as she was quite polished at her job. I knew plenty were aware of my demise once my boss answered with, “Now don’t you look lovely in pink”.
I replied with, “Come again?” to which he informed me I was the Internet rage as a video was in the wild. He reminded me to watch what I might say so it didn’t come back to bite me in the tailored sweatpants I was sporting.
There was the longest of silences before I heard his voice again. “Are you alright? Do you need a lift home? Perhaps you should take a day’s leave.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond, since sympathy was not one of his strong suits. Then he spoke again, “Really, take the day as you have more than earned it in embarrassment. Plus you still need to explain it away.”
I asked, “Explain what?” He proceeded, “Look I’m not accusing you of anything but you must admit, things look out of sorts”.
He was right. A simple case of curiosity had burned almost all nine of this cat’s lives. “Right then,” I replied, “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” and I ended the call.
I should have been worried about my wife's thoughts- explaining the ring loss and sitting at a table with a strange woman, but all I could think about was the giant brunette. Who the hell was she?
I know those eyes. I just can’t place them…the small flaw in the bottom of the left iris…damn it, I know those eyes.
Fixating on figuring out who belonged to those eyes distracted me enough to forget what waited beyond the doors, until I made my way back to the counter.
“Excuse me, I was wondering if I might get some help?” I pleaded, but was met with, “Sir please be courteous and get in line,” by a smirking gentlemen behind the counter. I had had enough and my blood began to boil just as it did in college when my best friend would pin me in wrestling. I knew from experience I was near my fail-safe point.
The barista who had served me resurfaced and I signaled her over. “Hello, would you be so kind as to phone a Pipey? My ring has taken a dive. Also, do you know what happened to the mystery brunette?” I inquire.
She was smiling ear to ear, “Happy to serve. I’m afraid not love. Why don’t you have a seat in waiting.” She then followed up with, “I truly am sorry for the mess.” I believed her even with the over zealous smile.
I had forgotten all about my outfit as I took a window seat in wait. I thought it best to rip off the band aide by calling my wife while I waited for the plumber to arrive.
She promptly answered on the first ring, bubbly in excitement and laughter. “Hello Dear,” she cackled, “You will never believe who dropped in today to talk glory days with you. Your best friend of college days, Jack!”
But before I could comment or speak of my day, she added, “Jacquelyn is just beyond belief. She is a real beauty. Hurry home and pick up some celebratory bubbly please.” Then she hung up.
Jack, the master of rookery, had played me well.
Those eyes, damn it Jack!
That was no costume, I began to see the day and my past from a different perspective.