Today, for whatever reason, I woke up with one of those did-a-bookcase-fall-on-my-head-last-night headaches. Combined with the fact that I’m not a morning person anyway, I was particularly grouchy by the time left the house. I was, of course, late, and I didn’t have time to swing by the new Starbucks near my house, although on the ride in it occurred to me that a little caffeine may be just what the doctor ordered. I decided to drive fast and make up a little time, whereby freeing me up to stop at the one near my office.

By the time I got there, I could barely see, so the order of the day was coffee, black, stat! When I went inside, there were only two people in line in front of me, so I figured it would be quick. Today though, the karma police were about to throw me in jail.

The first person in line, the one at the register, was a little old lady, probably seventy-five years old, and on any other day, probably the sweetest little thing you would ever want to sit and chat with over coffee.Today, however, I wasn’t having any of it. She was speaking to the tattooed/pierced/goateed barista dude that “Well, you know, I’ve heard of this place. I thought I’d come in and try it. You’re never too old to try new things! Can you explain to me what those are?” She pointed to the menu.

Too-cool-for-school barista boy must have thought she reminded him of her grandmother or something, because he melted. In his softest, lispiest voice, he went through and explained to her what every one of the variations of coffee drink are.

“Sure thing. This one here is a latte, lahhh-tay, and is mostly steamed milk with espresso in it. Below that is cappuccino, cap-AH-cheeee-no…”

“Cap-AH-cheeee-no? I heard someone order that on television. I thought it was wine.”

“Really? I guess it could be a wine, it sounds exotic like that – cap-AH-cheeee-no…”

The guy directly in front of me took the extra time to flirt with one of the employees, who just so happened to be in his Art History class at ASU.

“Hey, you’re in my art class, aren’t you? Wow, that class is intense.”

“Oh, hi, I am! I know, like, when do we go to the place where the pictures are?”

My right eye begins to twitch. Fortunately I’m still wearing my sunglasses so no one can see my Bill the Cat expression.

“Yeah. We don’t even get to go to the museum until almost Thanksgiving. Sucks hard.”

“Fer real. I didn’t think we’d be reading all these books. It’s like, really hard.”

“Yeah, it’s intense.”

You opened with that one, cowboy. Branch out. Considering school started about two weeks ago, you two are in for a world of hurt if the first week of Art History 101 gives you the brain pain. Hopefully neither of you are art majors.

By now, I’m seriously considering getting out of line, just to make sure that when my aneurysm goes, I’m not in the same room with the slowest bunch of humans on the planet. At least I wouldn’t get fired for being insanely late on top of this headache. Then, by some sick cosmic joke, I hear a voice come from behind the pastry case:

“Hi, I can help you here. What can I get you?”

I cringe. It’s her. The barista with the strange infatuation with my orange travel mug, which, of course, I happen to have in my hand. Where does she come from when she does that? I’ve been here for ten minutes and she was never even in the room. Maybe there’s a trap door under the sandwich display. As I raise it above the counter, it clears the box of napkins, and her eyes light up like it’s Christmas:

“Ooooohhhhhh! That’s my favorite cup evar!!!”

“Um, hi, yeah. Me again. Uh, coffee, and a muffin. Thanks.”

After two more minutes of painful banter, I’m able to pay for my coffee and bolt. I head over to the fixins counter to grab some napkins, and while I’m standing there, the sweet old lady wanders up to me and asks me to pass her the cream. I hand her the fourteen-pound stainless steel pitcher that they use for creamer, fully expecting her to snap in half.

“Thank you, young man. You know, I’ve heard about this place. You’re never too old to try new things…”

Thankfully, she couldn’t see the tears behind my sunglasses.