I was out running errands in between storms, and I stopped in at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf to buy a bag of good decaf. I wasn’t in a hurry, but I didn’t have an umbrella either, and the sky was getting darker fast. It’s a lucky thing, I thought to myself, that there is nobody in line but me because soon I will be back in my warm car heading home.
The girl at the register took my bag of decaf, rang up the charge, and swiped my card, then asked me how I’d like it ground. French press, I said. She smiled and turned to the grinder just as the door came open and a herd of large wet men came stumbling in. Naturally, she returned to the cash register to take their orders.
Fifteen minutes later, they’d all been served and there I still stood. May I help you? she asked brightly. You can, I said. You can grind that decaf I bought. Silly me, she said with a beautiful smile. How could I forget your decaf? Rain had begun to slash against the windows of the cafe. The big wet men, huddled around their hot cups, murmured affectionately to one another. The barista hummed to herself as she poured the beans into the grinder. It is true that the wait had been long and would get longer–my barista was a perfectionist, creasing and uncreasing and recreasing the folds in my decaf bag in order for it to seal properly–but no matter.
Beauty was unfolding all around me.