Seven Red

The Starbucks worker has welcomed me. She never gives me shit about using the phrase “medium” in reference to a size of coffee cup. She never “grandes” me, correcting my error. And today, yes today, Marietza of Starbucks has made me feel at home.

I walked into the Starbucks as I do every morning, looking for a fairly simple drink: Medium coffee, room for cream. You have to say “room for cream,” apparently, or they will fill it to the brim, forcing you to pour coffee into the trashbag at the sugar and milk area – a distasteful act for any but the most clueless and selfish assholes. So every morning, in I walk: Medium coffee, room for cream. $2.04. Thanks very much.

And today, that great miracle of city living, that miracle that non-city dwellers disbelieve, cannot process. In I walk – late this time: not the usual 7:30, but 8:20. Had to pick up dipes and wipes for babygirl’s daycare, drop her off late. Now Starbucks is crowded: a much longer line. Well, it’s later, I say. I just suffered a packed Loop-bound Brown line, so packed I had the uncomfortable knowledge of the placement of my feet in relation to the feet of others, a maddening awareness for any stretch of time. Later train, later Starbucks. More people. Oh well. I wait on line, trying to figure out by touch in pocket whether I have four pennies for exact change, and I almost see it: Mareitza glances up, spots me in this long ass line. Really? Is she in action, now grabbing for the “Grande” cups, turning to the tap? Really, Mareitza? Are you going to honor me thusly? She strolls over to the Starbucks Dead Zone, that area of the counter on the other side of the pastry rack that seems to have no purpose other than as a staging area for complaints. Certainly, no business is conducted here. And yet. Mareitza casually hands me the medium coffee, with room for cream, and in some bizarre transactional acrobatics, all one motion, I palm her $2.04 dead on, and turn to the sugar counter. It all happens so fast that those in front barely notice, and those behind don’t begrudge it, their interests served in the bargain. Oh, Mareitza! You’ve carved this space out of the chaos for us, however gravely our little conspiracy violates the categorical imperative.

And this is why I can’t avoid a city, why I desperately need the millions swarming around me, our foot placement always at issue on this small surface. Not a million murderous glares, though, as people may imagine, but a million moments of connection, here and here and here. With plenty of room for cream.

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