I come to the same coffee shop every weekend–only on weekends because it closes earlier than any other coffee shop I know and I never have time to get here during the week. (I suppose I could get up early and come here in the mornings, but let’s not get into that right now, okay?) Anyway, the girl who works on weekends knows me and starts making my iced Americano before I have a chance to ask for it. And she likes to talk to me while she grinds the beans and brews the espresso. And every weekend, it’s the same old thing:
Her: “So, are you working today?”
Me: “No. I don’t work on weekends.” (In my head: I’ve become a part of the so-called normal world wherein people work Monday through Friday.)
Her: “Enjoying your day?”
Me: “Yeah. It’s nice out, isn’t it?” (In my head: Actually, I just got up about an hour ago and I know that most people have done all kinds of cool stuff by this point in their day but really I don’t have any other place to go or anything else to do. And besides all that, I’m too damned lazy to make my own coffee.)
Today’s conversation lasted a little longer, long enough for her to probe deeper into why I come here so often.
Her: “So you’re still looking for work then, right?”
Me: “Not any more. I found a full time job. A Monday through Friday kind of thing.” (In my head: And I really don’t feel like telling you about it because I’m still feeling pretty low about all that happened this past week.)
Her: “So, you’re a writer, then?”
Me: Mmm hmm…(In my head: I’m also a liar. I haven’t written a thing in months. Really I don’t think I’ve written a lick of fiction in over a year. I’m faking my way through life and I hate myself for it. So there.)
Her: Yeah! That’s great. So–Harry Potter. That woman must be tired.
Me: Um. Yeah. I’ve only read the first book. Are you into the series? (In my head: Why, God? WHY?)
Her: No. It’s just that everyone’s talking about it, so…
Me: I don’t really get in to that stuff.
Her: Me neither. So you write fiction?
Me: Yeah. (In my head: Stupid. STUPID. Why did you leave your house today? WHY?)
The conversation turned towards the topic of a zine one of her patrons has put together. Coffee Girl will bring it in at some point so I can take a look at it. Apparently it’s for women writers because apparently there’s some old addage that says that women can’t be funny. So it’s for funny women writers and Coffee Girl thinks I should submit to it. Because, you know, I’m a writer.
So I guess I’m a writer who fakes her way through by blogging about the conversations she has in coffee shops and chalking it up as ‘writing time.’
Next time, I hope Mohawk Girl makes my coffee.