Things I've Seen at Starbucks: Halloween Edition

It has been relatively and surprisingly quiet at the 'bucks today. But now, as I finally click off of Facebook, Gmail and my many other open tabs, a pair of young men dressed up in costumes are stirring cream into coffees. I am sitting in an overstuffed chair next to a gentleman with an unkept and overgrown beard who regularly comes in and spends the day napping and reading the paper. I watch them discuss the evening's plans casually over sweetener and sugar.

One is wearing a large zebra-print brimmed hat with pink fur trim, a loud suit and an entitled walk. The other is dressed in a white uniform with a tilted cap and tight pants. I look over at the gentleman next to me and smile when I realize he's seen them, too.

There is a pause and then the gentlemen says loudly, "So a pimp and a sailor walk into a Starbucks..."

And I can't help it, I laugh out loud. As loud as he's said it. With that, it is time to turn off and turn my attention to my own costumed boy, waiting patiently for candy and his buddy Sammy and his mommy and trick-or-treating to begin.

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Comic relief by a preschooler means...yep, it's about poop

Lil E's busy in dress rehearsals for Halloween, as he has been all week. His costume's evolved, over the course of ten days, from a construction worker to a firefighter-construction worker to a complete construction worker. We will see which service professional shows up at doorsteps in the neighborhood tonight. When I left him in my mom's care this morning, he had on his construction vest, tool belt, hard hat and work boots, all over his orange spider Halloween jammies. He was barely hanging on to the overfilled tool box packed with a plastic drill, screwdriver, pliers, various tape measures, a magnifying glass and other assorted items from our apartment and my parents' house that he's deemed critical construction accoutrement. I love every bit of it.

Last night, we were toasting to my late grandfather who would have celebrated his 100th birthday yesterday. Lil E and I ate with my parents and traded stories about my granddad. Lil E kept interrupting with construction stories, wanting to be a part of the conversation even though he knows nothing about the granddad I had for the first thirteen years of my life. Finally, it was his turn to contribute. He launched into a complicated story with dramatic inflection, all centered on some big demolition project.

Lil E: ...and then the construction worker pooped and peed on his face! Hahaha!

We were silent for a moment, trying not to acknowledge this talk too much.

Me: Honey, we don't talk about that stuff at the table. Go on with your story.

Lil E: So the construction worker...

My mom interrupted.

Grandma Trini: And this time, no poop talk.

Lil E narrowed his eyes. And then, with timing that couldn't have been better scripted, he raised an eyebrow and one finger into the air.

Lil E: Wellllll, maybe just one part.

And that, we could not resist. We all laughed out loud, which only egged on the boy and the potty talk. But there we were, at the table and laughing. For that moment, I didn't care at all why.

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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.

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