by Patti
The other morning I went to Panera to get a Power Sandwich. Good Fortune was shining down upon me, because streamers and confetti and balloons fell from the ceiling and I won a free coffee! Okay, so the streamers, confetti and balloons were in my head, not on it, but still. Yay! Free!So as I was waiting for my Power Sandwich to be made, I made my way to the coffee area to fill up my cup. This particular Panera is always teeming with retired folk. They have their own tables that others know better than to occupy, and they sit there for hours, bantering and neatly eating their pastries with forks and knives (unlike me, who just stuffs directly from fist to mouth). Because of the Retired Folk quotient, this Panera is always jam-packed. The coffee station was particularly crowded this morning, so after I poured in my milk, I quickly shoved the coffee into the microwave to reheat it (because: Pet peeve! Why do restaurants always serve cold milk and cream to put in coffee? How does this make sense?), and moved out of the way so the Retired Folk could pour their java. I was impressed with how smoothly the line seemed to flow, despite the traffic. One oldster with a bandaged-up nose seemed to be the Director of Traffic, making sure there were no jams or accidents.
The microwave “dinged!” and I scooted in to get my coffee. “Excuse me,” I said to the Director of Traffic. He looked… a little annoyed. But he scooted just slightly to the right so I could maneuver my way in. At that moment, another older woman appeared from the left, her plated pastry and empty cup in her hands. She scooted into the line and started pouring her coffee, and CLEARLY she was violating the rules, because she was going AGAINST THE TRAFFIC.
This apparently freaked out the Director of Traffic. He cleared his throat in protest and quickly scooted around me, another violator who was cutting into the traffic. “Oh boy.” He shook his head quickly at the woman, frustrated. ”You are messing up our line. You see, we always pour the cream first,” he signaled to the pitchers of cream to his right, “and THEN we pour the coffee.” He signaled to the left. “It’s better to pour the cream first; that way the coffee doesn’t splash.” The woman looked up at him and then down the line, assessing the damage she had just caused with her thoughtlessness.
"Oh my,” she said, apologetically. “I didn’t realize.”
Seeing that she was appropriately remorseful, he relaxed a little. He rubbed his nose and winced, apparently forgetting it was bandaged. I wondered if he had gotten into a coffee line traffic altercation earlier in the week. “Oh, now, that’s alright.” Feeling momentarily friendly, he asked, “So, how’s your husband?”
He knew her?
“Oh, he’s alright. It’s those bunions.”
Yeah, I’d heard enough. I pressed down the lid on my coffee, and the Director of Traffic, suddenly snapped out of his friendliness, seemed to remember that I was holding up the line. “Coffee not warm enough?”
“It’s fine; it’s just that the cream is cold and it makes the coffee cold, so…” I felt like I was trying to talk my way out of a ticket.
As he considered my answer, weighing whether or not my excuse for cutting off the traffic to unlawfully microwave my coffee was a valid one, I looked around at all the Retired Folk eating their pastries with forks and knives, cheerfully chatting about their surgeries and pills and aching hips. Then I looked back at the Director of Traffic, who was already eagle-eyeing another violation in progress. Seeing the opportunity to make a clean getaway, I sped off, coffee in hand, breaking every traffic rule along the way.
