Tag: coffee shop

Thirstda’s Wandering Thoughts

A hard thwack burst from my hat’s brim as I walked along the sidewalk to the coffee shop.

What was that, was my immediate, natural reaction. I’d seen nothing bounce away so I immediately suspected, bird poop. As if confirming it, a large crow flapped away, cawing as if crowing in victory.

Entering the coffee shop, I removed my lid. Yep, I’d been nailed. I remember that some cultures consider this good luck.

It is said that the lucky bird poop belief has its origins in Russia. According to this superstition, good luck and financial fortune may come your way if a bird poops on you or your vehicle. Perhaps the reason for this myth is that the odds of being pooped on at any given time are so low.

I showed my friend and share what happened. He looked and laughed. “It’s a good thing you had a hat on, or it would have nailed your big forehead.”

He was right. That would have created a vastly different experience.

I guess an optimist could say that the bird poop was good luck, because I was wearing a hat when it hit.

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Sattida’s Wandering Thoughts

A man entered the coffee shop. Not paying much attention to him, I don’t know how old he might be.

A song was playing on the speakers: “Dancing Queen” by ABBA.

The man said to the baristas, “You know this song? I know it from Vietnam. I’d heard this song when we were surrounded by Viet Cong. Oh, man, what a nightmare.”

My mind did a little tumble as the guy hastened back out of the door. I pulled up Wikipedia to confirm what I was thinking: the Vietnam War ended in April of 1975.

“Dancing Queen” wasn’t released until August of 1976.

No way he heard that song when he was fighting in the Vietnam War.

Questions followed in my head. Was he deliberately lying, just creating something for part of a fake persona to gain attention, or had something screwed with his memory? Maybe he was just confusing songs…

Hard to say. These things happen to us. Part of being human.

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Frieda’s Wandering Thoughts

It seems to me that it’s strange to go to a coffee shop, plug in a game, and sit there, playing a few hours. I mean, I can see sitting there reading a book. That makes complete sense, as does doing homework and studying. I’m puzzled by those who come in, plug in, and watch movies or videos for hours. Of course, I also know what an energy suck that games, movies, and videos can be.

Then again, others probably find it strange for me to go to a coffee shop less than two miles from home, set up a computer and then spend hours there in pursuit of writing. I know from riding others’ blogs that some people find it pretentious.

I defend my writing with extenuating circumstances. Bet the rest can make the same defense. Bottom line, it’s all just as legitimate, normal, and natural in today’s tech world, so just get over it, boomer.

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Sa’day’s Wandering Thoughts

A common casual question being posed as people meet is, “Are you ready for the new year?”

I watched and listened to folks in the coffee shop. Yes, spying on them, listening to them. Most commonly when they’re asked this question, shrugs are given. Sometimes someone will say, “Not really.” I’ve not any any who say, “Yes.” I don’t answer yes, myself. I’m part of that not really congingent.

We all agree, ready or not, here it comes.

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Sunday’s Wandering Thoughts

I’m at the coffee shop. For a period, I was the sole customer sitting at a table. Seeing the empty chairs reminded me of regulars who I haven’t seen in a while.

I wonder, what happened to Patty? She was homeless but welcomed here. She kept to herself but I know from overheard conversations that she had a support group helping her, and she’d gotten a job. I hope she’s off the streets and okay.

Austin is another I wonder about. I haven’t seen him since my return at the end of May. He disappeared for a while last year. Always sporting his backpack, I used to see him wandering the city. There’s been no recent sightings.

The third missing regular is Bob. Bob, older, retired teacher and athlete, was succumbing to hip and knee problems. He was nearing 80, I think, and looking tired when I last saw him. Maybe he’s just recovering somewhere.

That’s the thing about seeing regulars and becoming familiar with a small slice of their habits. They’re not an open book. Their story is rarely fully learned by casual observers like me.

But then, that’s true with most of the people we regularly encounter, isn’t it? Cashiers and servers, students and coffee drinkers, we’re a momentary presence in others’ lives.

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

A middle old person — 75 to 84 years old — has a penny. He asks several other middle-old people if they can read the date on that penny. “My eyes aren’t good enough,” he proclaimed.

Three other middle old people gathering. No, not without my glasses, they were all saying, chuckling. Glasses were pulled from purses and pockets. More folks moved in to try to read the penny’s date. Soon it’s a crowd of seven.

They all fail. The original gentleman takes his penny to the counter and asks the young barista for help. She studies it for several seconds, shifting the penny, squinting, bending her head lower.

A result is announced but I don’t hear it. He pockets his penny and thanks her.

It’s life.

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

A young middle-aged woman is at a table with a middle middle-aged man. That’s how they appear to be experienced but amateur eye. Both are attractive. She’s in light grey yoga pants and he’s in khaki hiking shorts. He’s tall, with graying curly hair, while her brunette hair sweeps away from her face and lightly lands on her shoulders. The two are so average white people of the Pacific Northwest. I notice them in the same way as I note others in the coffee shop.

But then, what makes her memorable, after they disposed of their coffee cups at the busing station, she methodically moves through the coffee shop, straightening up the chairs. He goes over and stands by the door, waiting for her to finish. She joins him and they depart, leaving the tidy tables and chairs behind.

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Clarity

Watching events through one of the coffee shop windows, he saw a car suddenly appear out of nowhere and wheel into a parking lot. Where’d that come from, he wondered, studying the lines of traffic. Just a white BMW SUV. Not the newest model and not the largest one.

The driver and passenger emerged. Neither looked human. Holy shit, he thought, straightening, eyes widening. Both of them were tall, pale green and – naked? Squinting hard against the glaring sun, he focused as intensely as possible.

Yes, they were nakd. He looked around the coffee shop, hoping another witness to what he was seeing was noticing. But the rest of the shop denizens were into their laptops, phones, and books. None seemed to see the two tall, naked, green aliens walking away from a white BMW toward the bakery across the street.

Then both changed, becoming a middle-aged couple, he in khaki cargo shorts with a green polo shirt, she in a yellow sun dress showing naked brown legs, and sandals.

He’d seen enough, though. He knew what he’d observed and pounced on several conclusions. Aliens were arriving in spaceships that looked like cars.

It made perfect sense, explaining the recent spate of bad driving he’d noticed, the unusually heavy traffic, and why others’ political thinking so frequently seemed alien to his own.

It was a perfect storm of clarity, and only he knew it.

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Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts

When I returned from the coffee shop writing session yesterday, my wife related a story she’d read.

A man began a new habit of going to the coffee shop every Saturday morning. He enjoyed the atmosphere and would surf the net on his phone and text friends while nursing a coffee drink and nibbling a pastry. After a few weeks of this, he discovered he and the owner had once been friends. Then, life happened. This disconnected but now reconnected in a casual way.

One day the guy received an email from the coffee shop owner. The owner said that the barista complained that the man was ogling her on Saturday mornings and that the owner was going to have to bar him. The man refuted what was happening. Through a back and forth series, he convinced the owner that wasn’t the case.

Meanwhile, the barista was moved off Saturday morning to another schedule. Therefore, the owner said, the man would be welcomed back.

Fuck you, the man wrote back.

I wholly understood and agreed. That place would never be the same for him, and other coffee shops would probably be tainted for him as well.

Sad that it came to that. Made me wonder, as I sit in the coffee shop and people watch, what did that barista think she saw?

4

Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

I’ve been writing. Now I pull my head out of the morass of story and look around.

The burst of activity which took over the coffee shop like a late spring storm has faded. Regulars have come in. Parked at tables as I’ve done, they pursue their personal agendas in a public forum.

One of them is a woman. I have no idea what she’s doing. I wonder, but, shrug. I try to give everyone the same privacy I seek.

Today, though, I see that her toenails are bright mango. They match her shirt.

I haven’t noticed these things before but now I’m thinking, did she select a shirt and paint her toenails to match it, as is this a coincidence?

Now, I know, I’ll need to see her again and make a note to look for her toenails. Yes, it seems weird to me, too.

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