This morning I was picked up by one of my wonderful co-workers. I was about one minute late getting to the corner but that's no big deal. She has to be to work at 7:30 so by 7:22, here I was.
K___ and I generally take turns buying bags of bagels and cream cheese to split for breakfast. It works out quite well except we're both somewhat forget forgetful so about every other time the bagels run out, there's a day or two where we both neglect bringing any it. This morning was one of those mornings. Luckily I was here very very early so I headed downstairs on my way to the coffee shop across the street. The closest office to our lobby is that of the IRS help area. They don't open until something like 8:30 but people are here much earlier; on the mornings I am here at 7, there are even usually a couple people already waiting outside their door.
These people generally stare at anyone walking past, hoping that by some strange telepathic osmosis those of us who even work in the same building as the IRS workers will transmit signals to give them the help they need.
My favorite "waiter" this morning was this older gentleman who appeared to be first in line. He had white hair on the sides of his head, none on top. He was talking on his cell phone with a drawl that wasn't anywhere near southern, but distinctly that of "Midwestern White Trash." Those of you who have lived in the Midwest much know what I'm talking about. This is the ability of someone who has either never lived in the South or hasn't in decades lived in the South to still be able to work a drawl into their speech. It doesn't sound Southern in the least bit, but it still exudes messages like "Stars and Bars Fo-evah" and "Bring Mama's cigarettes ovah to the couch, bo-ah." This man sounded a bit like what it would sound like if Boomhauer (from Fox's popular "King of the Hill" program) were from Nebraska, not Texas. He was carrying on a rather loud conversation about his history of dog ownership. The people waiting in line next to him looked as if they were hoping the IRS would free sharpened pencils with which they could stab him.
I passed through the door and crossed the street and fit myself into the revolving door, then through the lobby into the coffee shop. The shop is located in a large bank building. They have their own door but using the revolving door in the lobby just south of them keeps them from getting blasts of cold air on February days like today, so I try to be nice. The girls who work there are always nice and one of them I sometimes ride the bus with after Thursday night classes at UNO. She moved her from New Mexico or something to be near her boyfriend and is still getting used to the Nebraska cold, so it's fun to hear her talk about how interesting it is to feel things frozen inside her nose. I pick out a couple wheat bagels and answer yes when asked if I'd like them toasted. No, I won't be needing any cream cheese today. We have free coffee at the office and I had convinced myself to be content with that this morning until I noticed that the flavored coffee of the day is Almond. I can't really pass that up so I grab a cup of that and sprinkle some cinnamon into the cup as well.
At this point I realize that no matter how many miles I am from what I want to be, no matter what my car situation is, no matter how much money I make or don't make, no matter how early it is, no matter how many people stare at me when I walk back through the lobby, I can't help but have a good morning when it starts with Almond coffee with cinnamon in it.