getting the ball rolling

This essay was written awhile ago in an effort to release some pent up frustration. Looking back on what happened and putting it down on paper was such a good way to do that! I really do know this whole situation that i described sounds kind of silly, but as a frequent starsbucks-goer, having people crowding into the coffeeshop was like having people crowding into my room. I guess we really are just creatures of habit. And we don't like it when people take our stuff.

Currently, I don't have a favorite spot. I realized that each spot has different ups and downs and could in fact be the perfect seat for what I feel like doing: the comfy corner chair for reading, communion table for textbooks, and the high-tops for using my laptop. Although they weren't always my usual spot, they were always strategic spots.

I guess you can't reach perfection until you define it.


My Table:


“Mind if I perch at this end?”

“Hell yeah, I do!” I wanted to scream at her. But I couldn’t. Because I wasn’t even the lucky bastard sitting at the other end of the communion table at Starbucks like I usually am. Today, I was demoted to the table and chairs set, stuck by the window, in the corner.

Trapped between a large extended family speaking in their native, yet foreign to me, tongue and the oh-so-tempting exit, remaining concentrated was a bit more difficult. That being said, I dove into my workbook, hoping to drown. That way I could at least get some time alone with it.

With three pages down, I came up for air. Looking around, I wanted to cry.

Why would she do that?

It was silly. I know. But, one should never underestimate importance. It’s kind of odd really. I would think every caffeinated coffee drinker in the place would feel my unspoken pain. Coffee should hold up that same standard of importance to them too; it’s that external energy to finish the day.

It’s that piece to finish the puzzle.

It’s that gas to drive the car.

And then there was me. A fully energized girl, driving around the country, with a completed puzzle in the backseat, but I have no clue in hell where I am; I don’t have my seat!

My seat!

That seat that is mine!

Mine!

I stare back into the foreign man’s eyes. He was walking towards me on a mission. He stopped at the opposite edge of the table, paused, and rested his hands on the chair facing me.

Yeah? Can I help you?

He cocked his head to the left and slowly smiled as if to apologize. His shoulders said “ah, what can ya do?” as he backed away slowly, dragging the chair. I sat in astonishment and screamed. Out loud? Who cares? It wouldn’t have been audible over the screeching of the chair’s gnarly feet anyways.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I stuff my work in my bag.

I march out of the coffee shop.