So I ordered a coffee and a muffin at this organic shop on my way to a used book store.
“$7.50 for a muffin? What, is there lumber in it?”
Maybe she didn’t get the reference.
Maybe she did.
She just slid her glasses higher on her nose. They were retro cat-eye frames and the lenses were flat. There was no distortion at all in the field of view through her glasses. They were fake, a fashion accessory. As an eyeglass-wearing man, that kind of offends me. It’s like someone wearing a fake hearing aid.
They have an iPad type of register on a little rotating pedestal on the counter that the woman put my order on.
“That’s $11. Will that be all for today?” She smiled.
“$11.00? That’ll be all for today AND tomorrow.” I said under my breath but I think she may have heard.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” I answered out loud.
She reached with her left hand into the display case, took out the muffin, and put it in front of me.
She then dispensed a medium black coffee and placed it next to the muffin.
She tapped the iPad on the pedestal then turned it to me. On the screen facing me were the total, a place to sign with my finger, and four different amounts to choose for a tip.
Throughout the entire process, she never left from in front of me. She just turned at her waist, once left (muffin) and once right (coffee).
I stared at the screen while she waited for me to pick a tip amount and turn it back to her. She glanced away in that fake “oh I’ll look out the window now” move to offer me privacy and checked her watch.
I had to choose a tip.
In Astrophysics, Quantum Entanglement explains that space and time are woven together in a fabric stretching across the universe known as the space-time continuum. If that fabric were corrupted it would wreak havoc on all we are. Well, that fabric was wrung like a locker room towel and snapped at my ass by God himself.
Time actually stopped for me while I stared at the screen, but for the woman, it accelerated.
She shifted from foot to foot and checked her watch again, probably because its hands were now spinning.
I grappled with the notion of tipping the owner. Would it kill me to tip her? She didn’t do anything really. Would I then be encouraging her to solicit tips in the future? Should I pay $11 for a snack? Does she know the price of lumber now? Why is she wearing glasses that have no prescription? How utterly embarrassing would it be if I were to be seen as a no-tipping cheapskate?
The inside of my head spun like The Rotor at Coney Island with my brain flat against the wall getting ready to puke. I was unaware that all the while I was contemplating these swirling thoughts, I was staring up at the ceiling with my head bent back. I looked like a Pez dispenser.
This resulted in a loud sigh/groan blend that I inherited from my father.
Among the tip options on the screen was “No Tip.”
I remembered, having used these pads before, that I could sign my name and pick that option quickly. The screen changes to a big “Thank You” and I spin the pad back to her. She’ll be none the wiser, at least until I was out of the store.
I looked up and gave her a smile. She returned a crappy one then looked at her watch again.
I took a deep breath and with my finger, I tapped the square marked “No Tip.”
It highlighted itself dark blue confirming my choice.
Still dark blue.
I peeked up at her then back to the screen.
Still dark blue.
Tapped it again.
“Everything ok?” She asked.
“Yeah fine…” tap, taptap, TAP.
Still dark blue.
“Um, I think the screen froze.” Taptaptaptaptap. “…shit.” Taptaptaptaptaptaptap.
“Lemme see,” she sighed a tone of frustration.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wuh, wait!”
She spun it back to herself. There looking her right in the eye highlighted in dark blue- “No Tip.”
She looked at me over those glasses without raising her head.
She poked the screen with a pen-like thing and it dutifully responded.
“You’re set.” She hissed.
She said those words exactly as she’d say “You’re dead to me.”
As I sulked out I looked up at that enormous round security mirror they have by the ceiling and could see her watching me leave with her arms folded, leaning on one hip.
When our eyes met, she slid those glasses up again.
I hope they don’t have that friggin thing at the bookstore.