Chapter Seven
How much coffee can a person drink in one day?
Today is the day I find out, I guess. Here’s the task according to the latest GoodWord message: pay it forward.
My secret person and I are on dual missions to spread coffee joy together, but of course, separately.
It’s a simple idea and we didn’t invent it; go to a coffee shop, order something for yourself, but leave enough money to pay for the next person who comes after you.
I think the idea is that the world will carry it on.
Like in a perfect world, everyone who ever bought coffee again would always have their coffee paid for.
In real life, the chain breaks at some point, maybe only in ways that cashiers and baristas can understand, but that’s not for us to solve today.
There are fifteen or twenty coffee houses in town, so I start early, hoping to get the ball rolling as soon as possible.
When I arrive at the first coffee house, I realize that starting early is the worst idea.
The place is packed. The counter has a line that twists and winds and cars are backed up in the drive-thru.
This is a great problem to have if you want to start a pay-it-forward chain, but I’m suddenly aware of the awkwardness.
Like when I say, “I’d like to pay for the coffee of the person behind me,” and that person behind me is actually there and listening, and maybe declining.
I hadn’t thought of this, so I head for the drive-thru.
I can pay for the car behind me and be halfway out of town before they realize what’s happened.
This concept nags at a single dark corner of my brain. Why should it matter? Why am I only comfortable with this idea in anonymity? I can’t face this thought, so I press it back into the dark corner it came from.
“I’d like to pay for the coffee of the person behind me,” I tell them at the window, as the clerk hands me my flat white.
She looks at the next car. “Sure, are you together?” she says mindlessly, scanning my card again.
“No,” I say. “Can you just tell them to have a great day!”
She smiles, but never looks away from the register.
I silently toast her with my coffee, exchange a few words, and I’m off, trying not to look back at the car behind me.
Simple.
I hit up two more drive-thrus in town the same way and, fortunately, the drive-thru lines are so long and slow this time of day that I have time to drink my coffees.
The cupholders in my car are filling up quickly.
And, I can’t possibly drink any more. I decide it’s time for beverage variety, which sets me on a new mission: try something new.
I establish that my next purchase will be something I’ve never had before, maybe would never try, and possibly I’ll learn something.
I also decide it’s time to man-up and go inside. Rather than overthink it, I just go.
When it’s my turn at the register, I decide on ordering a cortado, which is something I’ve never noticed on the menu board before.
It’s similar to a flat white, but with full-on espresso and an equal part steamed milk.
It only comes in one size, which feels authentic to me, like I’m drinking a real beverage instead of something commercial and consumerized.
They could never make a cortado advertisement.
It’s too real and unchangeable and has no seasonally-flavored catchphrase.
I also discover that my bank card now makes the pay-it-forward moment awkward.
I’m relieved that I’m the only person in line at the moment, so there’s no audience, or recipient, to my fumbling conversation.
The cashier works it out for me with a reluctant smile, but I think I actually have to apply my credit toward a gift card, which never actually materializes, but will buy the coffee for the next person who orders.
I actually don’t know how much to leave, so I just decide on an amount that well covers it, and move on.
Then, I’m waiting for my coffee. I’m suddenly nervous, like the next coffee order is coming soon, and I will be standing here awkwardly. Instead, I find a seat in the farthest corner and wait for my name.
When the next person arrives, I can’t help but watch.
I’m too far away to hear any conversation, but I’m mesmerized as I watch their body language switch from distraction to presence, like hearing about their paid-for coffee suddenly brings them out of their head.
The man takes a quick look around the room, smiling but not really searching, and there’s more conversation with the clerk.
I’m pretty sure it gets paid forward. I feel lighter somehow.
I can’t stop smiling and my mind is racing.
Why is that so effective? Why does it make such a difference in someone’s day?
I’m intoxicated by it. It could be the dangerous level of caffeine I’ve consumed already, but my world is shifting.
I’m so flummoxed that I miss my name being called, and by the time I hear it, the clerk seems slightly irritated.
I reach for my tiny coffee at nearly the same time the barista is placing the coffee and calling the name of the person who ordered after me.
We exchange polite head-nods and a smile, and I do something that surprises me: I go back to my seat.
I decide I’m going to hang around and enjoy my coffee.
Time elapses and I watch as several more people come in to purchase a coffee, and I watch their similar body language as they’ve been paid-forward.
When someone buys you a coffee, apparently, you focus.
The phones are put away, posture straightens, faces brighten, the clerk becomes a friend you engage with, the strangers in the room become possible benefactors, and your step quickens. It’s mesmerizing.
It also makes me think about my secret person, since we are both out spreading focus today, together-separately.
I wonder what my secret person is experiencing.
Are we both discovering the same thing about our fellow humans?
Are we both sitting in a coffee house contemplating the needs of the human race?
Or something stranger: Is my secret person here in the room?
Or maybe next in line? Is it possible that I might just buy my secret person a coffee today?
I’m really hoping not a coffee, because by this time in the morning, neither of us could take any more brew, surely!
But the question remains. Will our two separate worlds come together today?
I’m intrigued and ready for my next coffee stop.
Right after I get some cash, that is. Trying to negotiate a pay-it-forward on a card is way too complex.
I stand, gathering my trash, when I see a familiar face walk through the door: “Matthew,” I blurt without thinking. My voice carries across the room and he turns with a smile. Suddenly my heart is racing and I find myself squeezing my empty cup tighter.
“Liam.” He heads my way and I meet him halfway, where we shake hands. I appreciate the warmth in his hello, and I ease the death-grip on my empty cup. “It’s good to see you.”
There’s an unspoken request to head to the register and I follow as we talk.
“You just having a coffee break?” he says, then leans in with a whisper, “Or are you on a secret mission?"
I’m thrown off at first, like he knows what I’m up to, but then I remember our covert ops at Darby’s. The memory both electrifies and embarrasses me.
“Something like that.” I smile, eyes twinkling, I’m sure.
The clerk welcomes him and repeats her scripted phrase. He orders a mocha latte, skim milk, and then I can predict the clerk’s next words.
“Your order has already been paid for, sir,” she says. Matthew’s body tenses upright, his glare tightens and he turns from the clerk to me and then back. “The customer before you wishes you a great day,” she says, almost flatly.
I watch as Matthew looks around the room briefly, then reaches for his wallet. “Can I pay it forward?” he asks the clerk.
I’m impressed that the clerk never looks my way, doesn’t blink, and doesn’t try to make eye contact with me. She just walks Matthew through the process of paying-it-forward.
He turns to me. “Did this happen to you, too?” His trim beard is crinkling up against his smile, his eyes are glowing blue.
“Something like that.”
He turns to the clerk and expresses his well-wishes to the next customer. We walk together toward the pick-up counter, chatting.
“I had such a great time the other night.” There’s almost a bounce to his step when he speaks, a flash in his eyes. “I’m really glad you came.”
“I had a lot of fun.” I smile. “Who’d have thought that a bunch of engineers could be so much fun.”
“You and I should get together and hang out sometime? Just go have some laughs. Maybe a Saturday morning or something?” he says, his eyes are almost giddy with anticipation.
“Sure,” I find myself saying. “Or something.”
“I’ll text you then. It’ll be great.” His gaze locks on me. “I really think you’re a great guy, Liam.”
We stand staring at each other, I feel my pulse quicken, then suddenly we hear his name being called as a cup is slid across the counter toward him. He looks away.
“That would be nice,” I say. “I look forward to it.” I hear myself saying the words, but what shocks me the most is the sincerity of my tone.
My face flushes and I have a strong urge to grab him and hold on somehow, so I throw my hand out for a handshake, which he grabs.
It electrifies me in a way I can’t compute and I smile. I think he does most of the shaking.
We part hands and he raises his cup at me like a toast. “I’ll text you then.”
“I’ll look for it,” I say, my eyes drawn to the empty cup in my hand. I head toward the door, waving a small goodbye as I sneak out.