I decided to get back to my original theme for this blog and that is The View from Starbucks. Sitting in Starbucks, surrounded by real-life stories, it seems a shame to let this material go to waste, or even to hog it all for myself. So, I have decided to pass on the daily drama to you.
Today, I’m going to tell a Starbucks story. This story took place just after Christmas one year. I had some time on my own to write, so I headed off to Starbucks, which is usually not as distracting as staying at home. Not so on this particular day.
I was entrenched in my writing, enjoying the ambiance and the grande non-fat latte, when a rather rough-looking fellow, “thirtyish”, sat down in the comfy chair beside me. It always makes me a little itcy when someone sits down close to me and drinks his coffee. I mean, you expect that in a coffee shop, right? But I mean when someone ONLY drinks his coffee. He doesn’t read the newspaper or a novel and he isn’t visiting with anyone. He’s just staring, straight ahead. I catch a glimpse of him in my peripheral vision and decide he is, at the very least, suffering from lack of sleep. I sit at my computer, trying to pretend that he isn’t there, or that he is busy doing something, but still it is very distracting. This Starbucks is in Chapters so, why doesn’t he get a book or a magazine or something? All right, you aren’t really allowed to do that unless you pay for it. But still, the longer he just sits, close to me, without DOING something, the more uncomfortable I get. Now my condition has deteriorated from “itchy” to “twitchy” meaning that I may soon have to get up and move around, or find a new seat.
Then his phone rings. Yay! He has a cell phone. Now he has a friend to talk to. That’s where the real story starts. It turns out that the fellow is from Thunder Bay. Interesting. My husband’s family is from Thunder Bay, so I wonder if they know each other. Not that I’m going to ask. That is one of my rules. I sometimes break it. But the rule is, no matter how interesting the conversation is. No matter how I want to add my two bits worth, I am not allowed to initiate conversation. Initiating is always a mistake. When spoken to, keep it short and polite, but NEVER do the initiating.
In a loud voice, he tells of the incredulous situation he found himself in that very morning. “You won’t believe this,” he begins. “But this morning I woke up to find…” this is where the very colourful language took over, so let me paraphrase. What the fellow found was a surprise guest who had apparently followed him home and spent the night. “I have no idea who he is,” he told his phone buddy. By now I have given up any attempt at writing. My concentration is completely shot. Instead, I switch to undercover note-taking. I know that truth is stranger than fiction, but really, this fellow is definitely a character. For a writer, he is rich material. And so I open a new document and scribble some details. Everything from the disheveled appearance (matted hair that sticks out like a scared porcupine and narrow eyes that look like they’re bleeding), to the hoarse voice that expresses a child-like wonder about the events as though he is merely an observer in his own life, and not a participant.
The story takes a tragic turn as he explains a horrendous event that took him back to Thunder Bay for a funeral right before Christmas. He was back in Calgary for Christmas and spent it with a girl he met, who invites him to her parents house for Christmas.Thoughtful of the girl. He has no idea where she is now.
And that was it. He got another call and switched to the new caller, beginning a new conversation.
I had so many questions about the story. Loose ends that needed connecting and some kind of an ending. But no. What I had was this slice of real-life drama.This glimpse through a tiny window of a stranger’s life.
I packed up my computer and went home to my cozy house where I found my husband and daughter waiting for me with warm hugs.How easy it is to sit in Starbucks and sip my latte, taking for granted the joys and comforts that make up my world. It has not always been this way for me, either. But that is another story. For now, I think I will pause to count my blessings.
