Those People

I was going to write this morning. I had psyched myself into rising from my vivid dream-state to this drab world just to throw on a few clothes haphazardly and drive to Cafe Moro to begin my writing again. All seems well. I walk up to the counter and the barista smiles. Still good. I order my usual (a tall drip with very little room for cream) to go and pay with coinage. The barista pumps out my coffee in her usual brisk manner and punches my loyalty card (I just used up one row and received my free 12 oz). Everything is going to plan at this point. The cafe in this room is quiet, one bald guy is sitting in the corner at his tiny black Sony laptop  typing away. I can’t hear anything from the other room. I smile and walk over to the sugar/cream station and doctor up my coffee (a dollop of half and half and a couple of shakes of raw sugar). I pass through one arch, then another and I’m in the large section of the cafe where I usually sit. And everything crashes down around me. Someone has taken my usual table and they are the problem from beginning to end. Not only have they taken my table, but they are the only people in the room. They are having a meeting. Talking, talking, talking. It would not be a problem, except that I am ADD (clinically ADD). I can’t concentrate on writing if someone in the room is carrying on a conversation in the room and nothing exists to drown them out. I should have brought my headphones, I say over and over in my head. I then sit down and open and begin to complain.


~ by benmattice on April 26, 2011.

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