Disaster Averted

I am writing this about three minutes after the event itself.
It was just real cute, the kind of thing I love to see, and further proves my theory that:
#1) Starbucks is a great place to spend half your life, and
#2) Starbucks personnel are great people.
As many of you will know, I am quite the Starbucks groupie.
I can barely endure driving past the wavy-haired siren on that green sign without stopping and going in for an americano, or regular old “grande bold.”
As a Canadian, I know that I am supposed to be this way regarding Tim Horton’s, but no.
Truth is, I do not like Tim Horton’s [bitter-as-hell] coffee AT ALL!
How they command the attention of all Canadians is a mystery to me. What extra-terrestrial force is at the bottom of the appeal of Tim Horton’s… I know not! What sort of cosmic pact was signed with nefarious underworld deities… I don’t even want to know.
No.
Give me Starbucks©!

So here I am today, right now even, settling into my third or fourth hour of a Starbucks stint. Sitting at a corner table.
This guy [mid-30’s?] came in and ordered a coffee and a slab of rice-krispie cake. The coffee is for him, and the cake, for his little two-and-a-half-foot tall son. Cute as ten buttons → [The kid, not the tall guy].
They both then sat down on these two poofy-nice velvetty sofa-type chairs, just a few feet away from me. I kept on reading my book. [I am not quite as voyeuristic as this blog is sounding… but yes, I do tend to notice things around me].
The guy sets his coffee down on the little table between the chairs and takes the rice-krispie cake out of its little brown paper envelope. Hands it to his child.
For some unfathomable reason… the youngster waves the sticky piece of cake in the air and it flies right out of his little hand and skips along the floor. He chases it and picks it up about eight feet away and quickly examines it to determine its present state of edibility.
Dad is saying, “Daniel, do not eat that. Do not touch…. bring it back to Daddy.”
The boy toddles over, holding this hairy, dusty piece of cake up to his dad.
There is severe disappointment on his face as he gives up his treat.

“Sit down, son.”
The boy hoists himself back into the chair.
Dad stands up and is rooting around in his pocket for change, turns to go up to order another piece of cake.

But the entire time, from my vantage point, I could see that from the very moment the cake took flight the Starbucks barista-girl had gone into immediate disaster-recovery mode.
Without hesitation, she had reached into the glass case and removed another piece of cake. And now, as the man turned, there she was, bending down, and handing the envelope to the boy.

Disaster averted.

“Here you go,” she says.
He takes the crinkly package and looks inside.
“What do you say, Daniel?”
“Thank you,” he says, reaching in to the cake.
Dad also says “Thank you,” and moves toward the counter to pay for the cake but the girl stops him.
“No, no. No problem at all,” she assures him.

Just a little scene, I know.
Nothing that is necessarily going to change the entire world or anything.
But still, I may draw upon it tonight.
May want to recall it, as I sit and watch the evening news.

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