He's cheap; he never leaves a tip. This guy is also cheap, and he never has cash on him, so we have to pay a little bit of what he gives us to the credit card company for his convenience. This woman always talks on her cell while ordering, and for her alone we have had heated debates over whether to enact a policy of no order taking while customer is on the phone. Then there's the old man who comes in and asks the same questions every time about what we offer, as if our menus change daily. What is he hoping for? He never has divulged what he really would like, but he is always a bit frustrated and disappointed when he finally decides on the same plain scone and cafe americano while a beeline forms behind him. He has a knack of ordering when only one of us can be at the register. Then every week at some randomly assigned day, this man always in his bicycle gears, looking all sexy in his tight spandex, orders some cheap drink with his bike goggles still on.
My job is boring, which is why I notice these things about people. Most people are unmemorable. The quirky ones get my attention more. And they repeat themselves. I guess we should be grateful that these quirky people are repeat customers. And they aren't all cheap. There's this professor-looking guy that orders two, yes, two, pastries and the best espresso in the house, and he does this with a real smile to me, and only to me, for some reason, and with a generous tip, which I have to share with my colleagues whom he never smiles to, though he manages to nearly catch me every time he comes in. Imagine, me, a high school dropout girl who gets the attention of an Ivy League professor. Or maybe he's not a professor, just some other quirky weirdo who dresses up and acts like one. He asks me always how my day is, then he tells me his while I prepare his espresso. Today he said he read that some famous German, or was it French, philosopher said something, which he quoted, that made him think about the value of today's commerce. To be sure, I actually find this sort of thing interesting. Hey, most anything's more interesting than grinding espresso beans and moving scones around. I can't remember what he said, but somehow, it made me think about how big a world it is out there. Not sure why today. Maybe it's fall and the leaves are falling and we are all in the thinking mode. Maybe I've had it with this job that makes me wonder where my feet can go beyond the routines.
Sometimes, like today, I count the hours. After the morning rush not much happens. Interestingly, the "professor" comes in just when the crowd clears, so we get to chat a bit. I try not to sound stupid just in case he is a professor. But I try also not to sound I am smarter than I really am. Anyway, I counted around one hour after the professor left this guy came in. He seemed sullen. My heart mentally rolled my eyes because he would be a non-tipper and might be rude, from my experience with people whose morning is starting badly. He looked at me, and he hesitated. He ordered, and I wasn't sure if he didn't speak English well or just awkward or both. He was Asian, and you can never tell if they are native speakers or fresh off the boat. He then said something I couldn't understand at first. He repeated, "Are these photographs from here?" I looked and somewhat found myself surprised that there were photographs hanging on our walls. "Yes, they are from New Haven," I answered as I was filling up his cup with hot water for his tea (surprised! Asians). He then said, a bit more confident, "I mean, are these photographs taken by people of this coffee shop or from outsiders?" "Outsiders?" I thought, what a strange choice of word. I replied, handing him the cup of hot water and the bag of organic jasmine tea. While he searches for his, well, credit card, he asked, "Can I give you some of my photos and if you're interested maybe you can hang them up?" "Oh my God, Asians and their photos!" I thought. I said, "Well, the manager would be the one you should talk to, but he's not in today." He's almost never in. He has three other coffee shops in the area.
There's no one else in the coffee shop now, except another quirky weirdo who virtually lives here; he orders the cheapest cup of tea and sits by the window until we close! I could just see how boring the day would be. I looked at the Asian guy and said, "Do you have your pictures with you?" Expecting a "no", I was surprised to see that the well prepared Asian man nodded. He paid first, put his food on the closest table, and then opened his bag. I walked around the counter and told him we could sit at the table. Very bad protocol; I should be working, but somehow today I felt I deserved a break of boredom.
Fancy laptop. I was half expecting a bunch of photographs, but this being a place of fancy learned people with money, our Asian buddy has his silver laptop open. I don't have a laptop. I know how to use a computer, but I don't own one. How can you afford it on a tips? He opened his album and voilà.
They were portraits.
"Who are these people?" I asked.
"Monks."
"From where?"
"From India, Nepal, Tibet, and the rest of China," he answered, a little nervous.
"Why monks?" I asked.
He was quiet for a little bit. Then he said, "I am a Buddhist, and I wanted to capture the world of people who are important to my religion."
A Buddhist.... Of course, Asians are Buddhists. But I stopped thinking about him. I unconsciously took over the keyboard and at my own pace went through his photos. I wasn't even aware until later on that customers had arrived and my lazy coworker Sarah had to take care of them (God-forbid!). I was walking somewhere not here. I was reading words from these faces, these eyes, all gray, black and white, I was there almost with the mountains or the temples or the poverty that I never imagined existed. How did he make me do it, this Asian man, how did he make me travel in his photos? How did he tell a story without saying a word, without describing where he was. He was quiet, as if physically disappeared, but I knew he was there all this time, like a quiet companion walking with me while I was enraptured by the scenery, the joy, the pain, the suffering, the celebration.
After that he took another, I don't know how long, bit of time telling me about his travel. He then noticed the time and apologized for taking my work time for his benefit of telling someone about his story. I didn't know what to say. I never had someone apologize for making me feel good about the world. He then leaves me his email address, asking me to give it to Dan, our manager, if he might be interested. I told him I would tell him how, well, "wonderful" the pictures were. But for the rest of the day I tried finding a better adjective in my head. Something better than "wonderful." I was hooked, but on what? Not sure. I was liberated, somehow, to do what, equally unsure. But my heart was beating faster and heavier than normal the rest of that day, and I noticed a lot less about the people who were coming in the coffee shop and the even weirder people in the bus.
I have to go somewhere. And I think there's plenty of spaces in the world for me feet to fill.
