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Hurry Up and Wait —
An Essay on Coffee Shops, Storytelling, The Time-Space Continuum, and Lydia the Tattooed Lady

©2003 David Boyne

Sometimes, I think about the Time-Space Continuum.

Like yesterday morning.

As I stood in line at my neighborhood café, the thin, dark haired woman in gray sweat shirt and pants ahead of me was having a conversation with the voluptuous, dyed-blonde barrista in a tight black tank top and tight black jeans. The two women were talking about a mutual friend.

The voluptuous dyed-blonde barrista said, "She's 26 and she's had like, you know, the same boyfriend since she was 16."

The dark haired woman used two syllables to say, "N-o."

The blonde barrista answered in two syllables, "Ye-ah." Then she continued, "I mean it's like I can never get her to hang out. She's just into her boyfriend."

"You know what it's like," the dark haired woman said, leaning over the counter. "It's like you're in a relationship so deep your bodies just seem to move together."

The blonde barrista paused, thinking about that. "But ten years with the same guy?" She folded her arms under her full breasts and frowned. "She doesn't know what she's missing. You know?"

The dark haired woman said, "Hey, if it works for her. You know?"

There was a man in line behind me and I could feel his impatience. I glanced back and saw him frown at the two talking women. He shot a glance out the windows of the café, to a large white van that was illegally parked, then looked at the watch on his wrist, then frowned harder at the two still-talking women.

Although I really, really wanted my first uber-sized cup of black coffee of the day, I also really, really liked listening to the two women talk about their mutual friend's romantic fate. I envied how they adroitly examined and evaluated the pros and cons of finding—and sticking with—good love at age 16.

I confess I also liked watching the voluptuous dyed-blonde barrista because the tight black tank top she wore was very short and displayed an expanse of her round belly and the ski-slope curve of the small of her back and the swell of her ample hips—and all the tan skin exposed was adorned with a colorful tapestry of tattoos.

As the barrista slow-waltzed behind the counter...

Read the rest of Hurry Up and Wait in the ebook, Happy Accidents!

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