“Coffee, No Money” by Glenys Smith Elliott

What does it mean when you arrive at a coffee shop, salivating from the smell of coffee and rich pastries with creamy icing, with your computer in tow and ready to write, but when you go to pay, you have no money and no cards? Does it mean anything in particular?

This moment in time is wrought with choices. Self-judgment beckons with open arms and rough talk, escalating anger and misery. Embarrassment with hot red cheeks, stuttering explanations, and over-apologizing offer a shrinking possibility and a great coffee place to avoid for the rest of your life.

Paranoia lurks in every dark corner, convincing you that the barista is rolling her eyes and wondering how often this has worked for you before. Two chatting women in bright yellow armchairs in the front window convey their disgust not with words but with subtle eyebrow lifting, shaking of their heads, and silence as they list their ears closer to hear.

A vague thought of quickly bolting is tempered with the fragrance of freshly ground coffee beans. You begin to see the humour in your situation as you search again in the same places in your bag, as if the cards or money will magically appear. Your sense of the absurd grows as you see the discomfort the barista is experiencing in tandem with your own.

You realize you want the coffee and pastry more than you care about your lack of financial means. Now, this does seem humorous to you. I suppose you don’t care what people think anymore.

You simply take your coffee and orange-cranberry square to a comfy chair and settle in. Surely, something will work out short of getting arrested.

You have an inspiration and text your friend:

Join me for coffee at the Thistle and bring your credit card. I’ve already ordered and have no money.

Can’t. On my way to exercise class.

Shit, you think.

You pull out your computer and open your most recent project, noticing that you’re flustered and lack the one-pointed concentration to continue writing the piece. A few feeble clicks later, you are interrupted by the smiling manager gently asking your name. He tells you your friend is on the phone paying for the order with her credit card.

Relief! Your nervousness unravels, beginning in your feet as they stop twitching. Gentle warmth expands from your tummy toward your chest. You inhale and exhale deeply and only realize now you’ve been breathing shallowly. You can feel your eyes brighten and relax, and suddenly, you know what to do. You open a new blank file and start writing about this morning's experience.

***

Glenys Smith Elliott is a retired mental health and addiction educator who now enjoys sharing her time with family and friends, is obsessed with fitness but is never fit, and has a newly found curiosity about writing. She is inspired by how people endure hardship and make changes in their lives.

She has lived in Auckland, New Zealand, Vancouver, and Toronto while raising her family. She looks forward to extended travel to exotic places in retirement.

Her earliest memories of writing are poems about her own childhood emotions in early grade school, and she wishes she could find some of them now. Through Genealogy, Glenys has explored her family’s rich history, reaching back to World War II and plans on writing a memoir to honour some of these brave stories.

P.S. Yes, the Thistle Bookshop and Café is a real place. It's in St. Catharines and is as comfy and nice as you can imagine (here).

See Brian Henry's upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and four-day retreats here.

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