I walked into the coffee shop and stood at the counter, scanning the chalked menu. I asked the barista for an “Americano,” a beverage that I’d had before, and in a bright, challenging voice, she asked me, “How adventurous are you?” The challenge amused me, and when she finished listing some other offerings, I told her that I was “very adventurous,” and deferred to her choice. She recommended a “Tanzanian Pea-berry,” with “hints and notes” that I did not take notes on. From the lunch chalkboard, I chose a turkey sandwich, and sat at a small, round table to read the morning paper.
The coffee shop is near my residence in Irvington, and I had made a note to myself to try its offerings. I promptly forgot the note — my mental notes are written on a porous tissue — but I saw an associate raise a mug with the shop’s logo on it, and decided to put into action my contemplations. On my first visit, I got delicious “latte-like” drink that left a constant mustache-froth across my upper lip. On this visit, I accepted the “challenge” and sipped a fat mug of “Tanzanian Pea-berry” while delicately navigating a turkey sandwich, the contents of which I tried to keep off the pages of the paper.
I sat at a table that was in front of the entrance to the shop and across from the ordering counter; wide windows were uncovered to the street and a clean sunlight mingled with the interior illumination. I was on the comics section of the paper when I became aware of a man who had entered the shop thorough another door. I glanced up at him, then returned to my paper; some of the words I heard him say were, “… change for the bus…” The young lady who had waited on me said, “Oh, wait: Yes. I have some change.” She went into the back room, returned, and handed the man some money.
I have written before on the subject of the kindness of strangers, and on decency. When I lived in downtown St. Louis, my daily walks to and from work were riddled with rejected requests for money: “Nope, nope, nope,” I said. But here in Indianapolis, I have, on occasion, given rides to people who told me they had to get to hospital appointments, or who had “fallen asleep on the bus,” and missed a transfer stop. I did not always believe the story, but I gave the rides because it made me feel better. When the young lady at the coffee shop handed the man some money, he chuckled. He was not begging: He wanted change for his bill. He thanked her for the thought, and as she made change for his bill, he tried to make her feel comfortable. He left, and I heard her mutter to herself, “Silly.” And I believe that I know what she was feeling. But I wanted her to know that she was wrong.
I am not one to take the moral high road on an issue; I recognize my own failings, and appreciate the demonstrations of kindness that often escape me. I try to throw my few decencies on the pile with the greater ones of others, hoping that the mass of goodwill will be increased. When I finished my meal and paper, I left that young lady a note:
“You were not silly; you were generous. I made the same assumption you did, and I am ashamed to say that I would have denied the man. Thank you for showing me what kindness really should be.”