The Corner Coffee Cafe

Today is the letter “C” on the A-Z Blog Challenge. An image of a coffee shop immediately came to mind when I knew I was going to write today’s blog. I visited a place with this name in Scotland, Mexico, Canada, Chicago-they are everywhere.

They’re all the same. Only this one was named Corner Coffee Cafe. Only the weather is different, or the surroundings. Inside the tables, chairs, booths, counter and display cases are like all the other cafes. The espresso machine. Paper cups. “Should I leave room for milk?”

Writers occupy the tables. Every one of them look up at the same time when a customer walks in the door, then they go back to their business. They never look at you again. But you’re not one of them, even when you take a seat, open up your laptop or tablet and turn it on. You stir your coffee, add sugar, stir again. Drop your apple muffin on the floor. Rumble in your purse for enough cash to buy another one. Don’t let them see you panic when you can’t find that 5 dollar bill you swore you placed it under your license this morning. It’s not there! You finally see it, green paper under your library card. Then you drop your wallet on the table and it bounces to the floor. Eighty seven cents in coins spill out of the opening that should be zipped up. And the coins fly toward the woman who looks like the meanest person in the world. She picks up the quarter near her shoe, stretches out her hand says “This must be yours.” Of course it is, you think to yourself, then thank her but your voice squeaks and you cough but you don’t need to. Cough. Clear your throat. Stutter. Choke. Sniffle.

She turns away from you as if you have a disease and she does not want it. You might be contagious. You could infect her. Whatever you are, she must get away from you. Are you some kind of weird strange psycho thief or criminal? Maybe you might ASK her for something she doesn’t want to give.

You see another muffin, but this one is pecan instead. Even better. The worker behind the couńter doesn’t charge you because she saw the first one drop onto the floor. As you take a bite of the replacement muffin, the other writers  take a quick glance at you as if you are the only person who they’ve ever seen eat a muffin, especially pecan.

You pretend to write an important document but you are composing a list of your good qualities versus negative. Your mind goes blank. Words look all the same, a ɓlur of lines and symbols. Gray. You can’t see anything. Then you push the button on your phone that makes it seem like someone is calling you. “Mmmm huh okay. I’ll see you.”

Slowly and carefully you put your laptop back into your book bag. No need to button your coat. Carefully walk toward the door, praying you don’t trip on ànything. You push the dooŕ open trying not to let it slam. Once you get out the door without falling, you take small steps until you reach the corner. If you can make it to the bus stop in one piece, on time, then you can rest your eyes on the way home.

And there you’ll be able to ŵrite a novel, a poem or two, and an essay about fear of strangers in the contemporary world.