Jinxed

Originally posted Dec. 8, 2005

Yesterday was just another typical day in my life. I got up, I went to work, I did my job, and then I spilled coffee ALL OVER MY FREAKIN' SELF.

Kind of a funny story, actually. I'd had a hankering for Starbucks all day. If you could call throwing down a small bag of gold for a mocha a hankering...but nevertheless, I was in a coffee mood.

After the afternoon meeting, I announced I was going to the local Starbucks and did anyone want anything? My boss said he'd take his usual tall vanilla latte, extra hot, and flipped me $3. My co-worker Tim said no thanks, but then found it in his heart to tease me about having to carry more than one drink back. Usually I walk to Starbucks, but it was looking pretty gloomy outside, so I stuck my tongue out at him and said ha, I was going to drive and didn't have to carry the drinks and I could just put them in the cup holder.

So down to Starbucks I go, and of course, three seconds out of the car I'm hit up by a panhandler. "Mumble mumble mumble change, ma'am?"

"No, sorry, I don't have any cash," I tell him. "Mumble OK," he says.

Inside Starbucks, I place the order and sit in an armchair to wait. That's when I notice a somewhat weirdish middle-aged man sitting at a table with an older woman wearing a bright pink sweatshirt, a white visor and who had blond hair that was fading to white.

"Excuse me," he says. "I just want to tell you you are very pretty. You should be a model!"

"Oh...uh...heh heh....thank you," I sputter, never very good at taking compliments.

"You have the most gorgeous hair. My mother was just saying that. She said, 'Look at that girl, she has beautiful hair.'"

"Thank you," I say, still at a loss for more gracious words. "I wish I was something as exciting as a model."

"No," he says. "Some models are very boring. You are exquisite."

Just then, the barista puts my drinks on the counter. "Thank you...have a good day!" I say to the man and his mother. "You too," he says. "And happy holidays!"

Well, that was nice, I thought. But the mood is ruined outside when I get accosted by, YES, the same panhandler.

I don't know what these panhandlers think. Didn't I say earlier that I had no cash? What, did I go into Starbucks and magically pocket the tip jar? Of course not. If I don't have cash, that means I have to use a card. That does not translate into change. So no, Mr. Panhandler, I don't have any change...yet again! Leave me alone! There is nothing more annoying (well, OK, there are lots of things, but for the sake of literary freedom, work with me here...) than being hit up by the same panhandler twice in 5 minutes.

Now it's starting to rain. I head back to the office, eyeing whatever police action was going on in the parking lot at the time. I pull into a spot, get out of the car and walk up to the back door, which requires a key. I stack my boss's drink on top of mine, then go to insert the key in the lock. And then....then....like slow motion...I watch my boss's drink topple end over end, heading for the ground. Instinctively I grab for it, but that only serves to pop the top off and spill extra hot coffee all over my sleeve and clothes. It hits the ground with what sounds like #$*(&! in my head, and spills all over my shoes.

"#$@(*&!" I say. I shake off like a wet dog and get back in the car, my keys covered in Starbucks' finest. I begin to use my shirt as a napkin. At least I can wash my shirt. My pants, on the other hand, are dry-clean only. Of course.

Well, I can't very well go back to the same Starbucks, I think to myself. I'll have to strike up another awkward conversation with that guy and his mom, and I'd really like to avoid hit-ups No. 3 and 4 from Prince Panhandler. So I decide to drive 3 miles down the road to the next Starbucks, where I procure yet another tall, extra hot vanilla latte for my boss.

About 40 minutes after having initially left the office, I return with drink in hand, splattered with the remnants of the previous coffee and somewhat annoyed by the ordeal. Tim is walking around outside.

"Dude, you jinxed me!" I call over to him, referencing his earlier teasing that I'd have to carry more than one drink back to the office.

"Why? What happened?" he says.

I point at the ground by the door, a puddle of coffee still making its way towards the curb.

"Oh no!" he says. And then he laughs.

Damn you, Tim. Damn you.