Tag: Coffee Shop Talk

COFFEE SHOP TALK—Am I a Lady of a Certain…What?

“I love your shirt,” the young man behind the counter says when I walk through the door. 

I look down to see what I’m wearing. It’s my Beatle shirt. “It’s Webber Wear. A friend of mine, Kenny Webber painted it,” I say.

“You’re lucky,” the young man says. “Does he do canvases?” 

“Yes.” 

He waves his hand in the air. “I would love a wall done just like that with the same colours.” 

And I think: Wow, he’s talking to me as if I’m a young hip-chick. “That would be sooo cool,” I say, trying to sound groovy. 

As I turn to leave he raises a fist in the air and says, “Wear that shirt proud.” 

I head down the sidewalk, with a bounce in my step, coffee cup in hand, feeling young and, as we would say, nifty. In the store two doors down I pick up two cushions and take them to the counter. The sales woman whispers, “are you a lady of a certain…” 

And I think: Is she asking me if I’m a lady of ill repute? Who asks that kind of question? And do they still have ladies of ill repute? “Sorry, I don’t think I heard your question correctly,” I say. 

 “Are you a lady of a certain age?” She almost mouths the words making it difficult to hear. “We have to be careful how we ask the ladies if they’re a senior. For the senior discount, you know.” 

And I think: A few minutes ago I was young and cool having a conversation with a millennium about art. Now I’m a lady of a certain age? How did that happen? “What’s the discount?” I ask.

She raises her eyebrows and smiles. “Seniors get a twenty-percent discount.”  

And I think: Do I tell the truth and take the discount? I mean twenty-percent is a lot. Or do I stick with the young hip-chick thing? The discount won. 

COFFEE SHOP TALK—Write This Down

“Write this down. Put it in your book,” the woman next to me says, “call me Mary or Vivienne or Roxanne. Call me what you want.” Her life story flows. Eighty years old, looks seventy, born Irish, adopted as a baby, and she loves sexy books, wants to write one. “A secret boyfriend, I have.” She flashes a smile. “He’s married but I like him…a big secret.” I take down her words; listen to a burst of notes flow from the upright bass and guitar. Across the room an artist brings an empty canvas to life. Sunrays, I think, the ocean, sea life, the colours of Barbados. 

COFFEE SHOP TALK

Cheating on my mind

I cheated. I’m blaming my hubby. He encouraged me. Told me if I wasn’t satisfied, I should go elsewhere. Glad to know he thinks that way. So, with cheating on my mind I parked my car way, way over on the other side of the parking lot. You know, just in case someone recognized me. I thought the experience would be exciting like Christmas, Santa Claus, and peppermint candy canes. Images of sugarplums would dance in my head. It wasn’t. It left me cold, uninspired and bored—a big let down. It’s for the ambitious who, are into solving math problems. And as I made the trek through the pouring icy rain back to my car, I couldn’t help but think: Was the guilt of having an eggnog latte in Other Place worth it? I love Coffee Shop, been in a relationship with it for over seven years. Then there’re the women behind the counter who know my name. Who welcome me every morning, worry about me when I miss a day or two. How can I face them, look them in the eyes? Would they smell eggnog and nutmeg on me? Notice the drop of foam on my sleeve? I don’t want to cheat on Coffee Shop but this is the time of year when my thoughts turn to eggnog lattes. So, here’s my big question:  am I cheating if I get it to go?