The holiday Monday crowd in my regular coffee shop is good-natured and relaxed. I enter wearing my usual black jeans, black shirt and All-Stars, black also. Today, I have a black jean jacket and hoodie on because of the chill breeze and threat of showers. I hide behind thick-framed dark sunglasses; crowded places actually make me quite nervous.
As I stand in line to grab a coffee, I have the opportunity, from the safe vantage point behind my glasses, to look over the people crowded around tables, sipping coffee and nibbling at sweets. At a table by the window, there is a happy little family; the baby is giggling in it's fathers arms and playfully grabbing at his nose as the pretty, young mother sits opposite and smiles delightedly at the both of them. There are old folks that alternately talk softly and then return to flipping the pages of newspapers.
The line slithers toward the front counter.
I notice a group of three young girls, maybe in their mid-late teens, talking excitedly and looking in my direction. I feel embarassed and look down at my shoes. On my other side there is a display of coffees and little cakes. Maybe they are discussing more treats.
I look up again and one of them is standing, being pushed and encouraged by the other two. There is no doubt that she is an attractive young woman; thin but shapely and tallish. But there is something over done about her like she is trying too hard to look the part of the urban starlette. She is wearing those giant sunglasses that are so popular but really make everyone look like a big bug. Her hair is curly and fashionably mussed. She is wearing boots, fancy jeans, and a blouse with a flounce at the bottom.
I see that she has tossed her hair and is walking toward me. I start to feel squirmey inside.
"Um, Hi!" she says arriving, and seems to dance about in front of me.
"Um, Hello," I respond, plumping my ego.
"Um, like, me and my friends..." she pauses to point them out. The two girls at the table are clinging to one another and giggling. They wave and I nod. They break into peals of nervous laughter.
"...like, we really like your stuff."
"My stuff?" I repeat, starting to feel confused. The palms of my hands, stuffed in the pockets of my jacket, are getting sweaty.
"Yeah, you know, like, um, I dunno...are you guys, like, playing tonight?"
"P-playing?" I begin to stutter and my mouth is dry. I feel my ears start to burn.
"Like, you are, like, the guitarist from 3DoorsDown, aren't you?"
I have only a moment's relief as the confusion clears.
"No, I'm a graphic artist."
Her giant sunglasses slip down her nose and she studies me intently.
"You don't look a bit like him."
I shake my head, apologising. She gasps.
"Ugh, what are you - some kind of creep? Get away from me!" she squeals.
My mouth falls open. She turns, tossing her hair and, with one hand on her hip, stalks away to her friends. The movement of her butt punctuates her displeasure at my deception. A few heads turn toward me and I return to studying my shoes. I absently wipe a nervous bead of sweat from my cheek. The line shifts forward and I follow mechanically. Then I hear a voice.
"Hello?" she says; I look up and wonder if I should just run away. But she is smiling broadly; her eyes are dark and friendly. Maybe this time it will work out better. I smile back, getting ready to say something terribly clever but she is first.
"Can I take your order?" Her words are sincere.
I order a large coffee to go.