Things I've Seen at Starbucks: The marriage counselor

Last week, I was sitting in my Starbucks "office" and trying very hard to focus my attention away from the knot in my stomach and tears just a short trigger away and on work. Instead, I was playing a lot of Scrabble on Facebook and going over and over the words to put into a post.

Then a man sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs in the corner. Over my laptop, I could see him fidgeting, taking quickly-studied looks at every person in the shop. He tried to get my attention and I half-smiled and went back to staring at my screen. He didn't let go.

"Hey, are you a student?," he asked. And of course, that made me laugh.

"Oh noooo," I responded with more courtesy than sincerity. "I am working."

He went on to ask me what kind of work I do and other questions I couldn't really duck from such close proximity. I answered. Vaguely, but I answered. And then the big question was hurled over at me.

"Are you married?"

Why does this feel like such an intrusive question from a stranger? He probably couldn't see the rings on my hand with the computer between us, but it felt like a leap even still. I answered yes and a flood of thoughts about where I am in my my marriage and how that made the question feel even more difficult to answer rattled behind my calm and confident response.

"Are you happy? I mean, is it a good marriage? Are things good?"

I couldn't believe my ears. Here was this nervous-energy guy, a guy I'd place from Jersey with a backward baseball cap and messy hair, with an east coast accent and a sense of urgent curiosity about the strangers around him. He sang along loudly to the songs playing over the speaker so that all of us had to pay attention, he asked the young woman who actually was a student too many questions when her body language begged him to leave her to her textbooks and mid-terms. He was obnoxious. If we'd been side by side in a bar or the grocery store, I probably wouldn't have answered him at all.

"Yes," I said. It isn't true, obviously. Not that day, even more today. But my shock at the untruth of it, so suddenly and painfully, stung me.

"I just ask," he explained, nodding, "because...I mean, that's good for you because every married person I know has said it is so hard. I was engaged but it didn't work out due to my own immaturity but everyone I know who is married is really unhappy."

It was a lot for a stranger in Starbucks to share. But even more so, it was stranger that this man out of nowhere with the big whipped creamed coffee drink had unknowingly keyed in to my private turmoil.

I nodded.

All I could offer in return was, "Yes." and then, "Sometimes it is a good thing not to get married if you are not ready, not mature enough."

He went on to ask me less important questions and I continued to answer politely. The incongruity of the meeting kept coming to mind all week, even days after he asked my name and then shook my hand and left, and long after I did actually get back to work and eventually the business of my marriage. I was hiding out from my personal life to try to focus on the safety and stability of my professional life in Starbucks. And in the middle of that, I was confronted by all I wanted to be anonymous from for a few hours. That was the incongruity that lingered.

Late this morning, now days later, I came back to Starbucks to get back to work for the first time in days. It felt good to be there and I exhaled deep, yogic breaths as I plugged in my laptop and stirred honey and milk into my tea.  The guy from last week came to mind, and it occurred to me that I should writet about how the universe sometimes sends you messages in unexpected ways. And perhaps how the universe reminds you of the messages it sends. Even in Starbucks, even through strangers.

As that thought made its way through my brain and I put my hands to keyboard to begin, I looked up and there he was. The Starbucks marriage counselor. Or perhaps, inquisitor is a better word is more accurate. Regardless, he was there and I had a brief moment when I felt my thoughts had conjured him up in the line waiting for another frappucino or mochaccino or whatever. He stopped to acknowledge another man in the corner, someone he obviously met in the same way, and they talked about some new job and some old back pain and reminded each other of their names.

I was glad he got his coffee and connections in with someone else without recognizing me. I was afraid of what he might see all these days later. I was afraid of how I might answer any question.

And for just a short while, I want a little silence from all of that.

Comments

[MammaLoves]

Heh. Marriage. Yeah.

[Couples Counseling Jacksonvill]

I was grateful he got his java and relationships in with someone else without knowing me.