A few nights ago I went to Starbucks. I placed my order at the drive-thru window: one non-fat decaf latte, one kid-sized hot chocolate, and one large Rice Krispy treat. Normally, I spend $2.84 on the latte, and I tell the teenager NO when she asks for the cocoa and marshmallow combo, but because it was Monday, and everyone is entitled to a treat on Monday, I indulged her. I wish the bakeries of the world would embrace this truism. Why not close on Fridays instead of the most difficult day of the week? The day most of us long for the kind of comfort only an apricot danish can provide. Friday is its own treat.
The point is this was a big order for me. Totalling close to ten bucks.
Waiting my turn to pay, I noticed the car in front of me. It was small and red like mine but with a Baby on Board sign swinging from the rear windshield. I heard its driver laugh heartily - a woman whose profile I couldn't see in the dark - as money and goods were exchanged.
She drove off, and I smiled, as usual, extending my card out the window.
"Actually," the girl said. "The car in front of you paid for your order."
The best thing I could think to say was, "Nuh uh."
"Uh huh," she said,handing me the hot chocolate. "And we ran out of kids' size cups, so I hope you don't mind the bigger size."
"Am I on candid camera?" (Who says this in real life?)
The Starbucks gal seemed as pleased as me. She said the woman asked her to wish me a blessed day. We must have looked like a couple of real goofballs, smiling at each other. Stunned. Stupified by kindness.
"Holy cow," I said when I got home and explained to the teenager what had happened.
Sizing up her treats, she said, "Double holy cow."
Double holy cow, indeed.
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