Pay it forward

I ran a teeny bit late this morning. My oldest daughter wanted to talk, and I wanted to listen. She followed me out to the driveway and while we chatted, I corralled the empty water bottles littered on the floor of my car (how’d they get there?) into a paper bag. My plan was to give them to my co-worker who takes the recyclables she collects to her local Human Society.

My daughter and I finish our conversation, so I climbed into my car and zoomed off. Even though I’m twice as behind as I was before, I can’t escape the bewitching sirens call luring me to Starbucks. Besides, it’s only a few blocks away, directly on my path to work. I don’t require much mental arm twisting before I cave.

If I time it right, I seldom wait in the drive through line. I didn’t time it right, so I pulled in behind the car in front of me, and prepared to wait for my turn to order. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a couple. Both were wearing purple shirts (my favorite color) and the gentleman was carrying a garbage bag. I made an assumption and called out to them.

“Hey, are you collecting bottles and cans?” They replied in the affirmative, and I reached over to the neatly corralled bag of plastic bottles, and then passed it through my car door. Wow. That felt good. It seemed like my running late, spending a few minutes chatting with my daughter, and tidying up my car, had some sort of a cosmic purpose.

The line moved quickly, and before I knew it I was at the drive-thru window chatting with my favorite Baristias. (They are so nice to me, there. They remember my name, what I order, exclaim over my nail designs. These aren’t ordinary Starbucks staff, these people have super powers!)

“The car ahead of you paid for your drink.” My SuperStarbucks barista announces. My bemused expression quickly turned to one of great pleasure. Someone gave me a gift! Wow! That felt good.

On my way to work, late yet not stressed about it, I pondered on that cosmic connection. I wonder if my latte gift was an acknowledgement from the Universe for spending time with my daughter and sharing my recyclables. It sure seems that way to me.

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Thanks a latte

Every day on my way to work I visit the Starbucks on El Cajon Blvd and 67th Street. Yesterday was no exception, although what happened kinda was. When I pulled up to the window, the gal exclaimed “Peggy, what are you …!” Her eyes grew large and round and she stammered “you’re not Peggy.” I thought the whole thing hilarious. She was embarrassed because she was about to take “Peggy” to task for not coming inside and visiting. She comp’d my latte, and wished me a lovely day. I heard her laughing as I drove off. I’m glad she found the situation as amusing as did I.

This morning there was a very long lineup of cars at the drive through. Ah, no worries! I skimmed through my Facebook timeline and read the headlines while I waited for my turn to first order, and then pick up my latte at the window. Yet another surprise found me! The barista said “it’s already taken care of.” Huh?

“What?” Quick on the up-take, aren’t I?

“Someone ahead of you paid for your latte.”

Boy, did I feel like I’d just won the lottery. I savored the coffee on my drive to work, sipping in between bouts of grinning like a loon.

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Flight of the caffeine bee

It’s an easy flight from San Diego to Tucson. Getting up at 5:00 in the morning to make a 7:30 flight? Not so easy, but we did it.

I wanted to throw away my coffee cup and napkin before we boarded the plane. I asked my husband if he knew where the trash can was. I may have asked where it was, but really, that was wife-speak for “will you please throw this away or me?” So, when he didn’t jump to the task, I asked him if he’d throw my trash away for me.

I was about to give him the look; you know which one I mean. This look could be interpreted as long-suffering or irritated; or maybe it might mean if you rubbed two brain cells together, you might spark a clue! Fortunately, I looked at him before spearing him with “the look.”

“Oh my god! I thought you were my husband! I’m so sorry” Boy, was my face red.

The gentleman behind the man-who-was-not-my-husband was vastly amused, and he made mention of the looks on both of our faces between his guffaws. Of the three of us, the man-who-was-not-my-husband didn’t find the situation nearly as humorous as did the gentleman and me.

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