365 Days Of Love. Day 92

This is going to be the only coffee I drink today. I’m telling you both this because I want to be accountable.

Yesterday, before departing Denton, Steph, Lance, and I breakfasted at an outdoor table of a wonderfully quaint breakfast locale. I promised them that the coffee I drank with breakfast was the only coffee I’d drink the rest of the day (usually, road trips of any kind induce mass consumption of caffeine, like the way beach goers consume the sun). We cleared our pants, took a handful of pictures, said goodbye, and settled into our separate cars.

I scanned the local radio stations before resigning to my folky bluegrass that took me up to Denton two days prior. Less  an hour into my trip, the promise of Dunkin Donuts glared at me from its spot on the blue highway sign. Dunkin Donuts, seriously? They have the best coffee and its SO rare they grace Texas with their caffeine adorned presence. I had to stop.

With each step I took towards the counter, any guilt I had about drinking more coffee dissipated as the smell of coffee wafted up my nostrils. I parked myself behind another customer who was speaking Spanish to the (very) country workers behind the counter. They returned his Spanish with their own looks of confusion and shifted sorry eyes towards me and asked,

Do you know Spanish?

What a question. Initially, I wanted to jump into a long story about teaching on the border, the Tex-Mex Spanglish that I’m most familiar with, my 4 years of Spanish in high school. Instead, I said,

Uh, yes, a little bit. I could probably translate for you.

The Spanish man was en route to the exit when they beckoned him back. My shoddy Spanish did the trick and he left Dunkin Donuts, chocolate Bavarian crème donut in hand. He profusely thanked me (in English) and I smiled, embarrassed that I didn’t do a better job. Happy with his mid morning snack, he left, and I ordered my coffee while digging into my wallet for the crumpled dollar bills left over from the night before. The country cashier asked me three times if I was sure I didn’t want cream or sugar and then slid my coffee towards me. I handed him a small wad of dollar bills and he shook his head no.

Maaaaaam, you helped us out. You don’t gotta paaay. Thaaaank ya for your help.

The same way he checked my sugar and cream preferences, I asked him, “Are you sure? Are you sure? Are you sure?” He promised me he was and I proceeded to thank him the same way the Spanish man thanked me earlier. As I left the coffee establishment, I didn’t feel remotely guilty for consuming more coffee than I had allotted for the day. Rather, I felt immensely grateful. Grateful that my shoddy Spanish was useful, grateful that the country cashiers at Dunkin Donuts were so generous, grateful that I briefly interacted with a really friendly Spanish man, grateful for such a lovely Sunday experience.

As cliché as this sounds, I take my coffee black, but yesterday it was sprinkled with genuine love, poured from the kind hands of humanity.