Suddenly a swarm of women with toddlers all under the age of two enter the cafe, very much resembling a stampede of animals. My eyes grew wide with shock and fear. Should I call for backup? A woman set a large plastic container on a table, and I see it's full of vanilla cupcakes with chocolate frosting. Great. A birthday party. In the cafe. In a bookstore...who does that? Someone who can't afford to rent the space at Chuckie Cheese? My mind was racing with thoughts of smeared chocolate and crumbs. I'll have a mess to clean up when they leave. It just seemed odd, rude, weird that they'd do this. Matt drops off a canister of cafe posters and whispers, "Are they allowed to bring food here?"
I whisper back, "I have no idea. People seem to do it all the time."
One of my regulars, an old lady with a bird's nest of hair and a cane was sitting with her usual warmed oatmeal raisin cookie and half a cup of decaf coffee. She comes up to drop off her plate. When she talks, it's a low mumble, I have trouble hearing, but what I catch is always funny. She speaks her mind. She was grumbling about this birthday party group.
"I know, I was shocked when they showed up. Who does that?"
She mumbles about them and says she has her cane to hit people with. I laugh and say I should get one.
"I should leave my cane with you in case you need it," she tells me.
I throw my head back and laugh. Sometimes I love old people.
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