Life of a Retired (High School) Athlete
Y'all already know my number one hobby is eating (writing and drawing both come in as a close second). Well, unintentional hobby number three is embarrassing myself.
Picture this: quaint little bakery in a small yet bustling downtown. Counter display chalk-full of pastries. Brownies, cookies the size of your head, lemon squares, tarts, oh, this list could go on forever. It was basically as though I'd passed on to a heavenly, spiritual realm made up of every goodie you never imagined. I didn't want to leave. I couldn't leave without taking a little piece of it with me.
So I bid my brunch buddy goodbye (I'd gone out to breakfast with a friend. No, I was not standing in a bakery drooling over cakes and pumpkin spice everything by myself just for the heck of it...although that is something I would do), and got it in my head that one of these little devilishly delicious angels was coming with me to class that day for an afternoon snack. I walk up to the counter, huge, goofy grin plastered directly on my face. I open my mouth, some words come out--something about wanting two cookies, that's all, please--wait for the cashier to ring me up at something like one dollar and sixty-four cents.
Back-track to two minutes and forty seven and a half seconds earlier.
Remember when I said I'd gone out to brunch with a friend? Well, as we took our coffee and water and searched for an empty table in the bakery, I'd seen a giant, shiny "TIPS" jar sitting on the counter that I neglected because I'm a broke college student who is ashamed to admit that sometimes, all you can do is offer a constipated grin and say you'll tip next time. However, on that day, rather than offer up a habitual "oh, sorry, I can't do a tip today," I offer up a tip instead on my second trip up to the counter. Two dollar bills. Both crisp. Both dropped right into the jar to show my appreciation for the coffee and crepes I'd devoured.
So. Back to the bill of one buck and then some.
I pull out my card to pay--smiling, happy, thinking of when I'll get to bite into the colorfully frosted cookies during my anatomy class. I hand the card to the cashier. He accepts it, but then grimaces slightly and says, "oh, sorry. There's a two dollar minimum if you're going to pay with a card."
"Oh, that's fine," I chuckle--the fake-est chuckle you would've ever heard from the mouth of a Reina--and dig through my wallet for another dollar.
Plot twist: there is no other dollar. Not. Even. One.
There's at least twenty seven other receipts from countless trips to Wal-Mart and Wal-Greens. There's a couple of pizza coupons. There's at least forty dollars worth of Argentine pesos from my travels during June in there, but no other dollar. So, I do what any awkward college student would do. I reach back into that tip jar, and yank out my two bucks. All the while I'm fake-laughing nervously and thinking to myself, "didn't my parents raise me better than this?"
The cashier says nothing, only hands me the cookies and watches as I plop my shameful forty cents in change down into the jar. As I leave the shop, a number of emotions is coursing through me. Confusion. Shame. Embarrassment to the max. Of course, hindsight is always twenty-twenty because as soon as I got to the car, I was struck with an epiphany. Why didn't I just buy another cookie so my total would go up? This thought was quickly followed by girl, you don't need any of them cookies in the first place. This is God's way of saying eat a carrot.
Needless to say not only was I embarrassed by withdrawing my tip, but the feeling returned when I went to eat the cookies an hour and a half later, and the bag I had to dig them out of made enough noise to wake the dead and one student whirl around and give me a death glare twice.
Twice!
I know the bag was being extra by making all that noise, but girl, did you have to be that extra as well? I knew you were irritated the first time around, but I've come too far to give up now--I'm eating my dagone cookie whether I pull it out this bag in four seconds or forty five...and you about to be listenin' to this crinkling the whole time either way.
Fast forward to today when my boyfriend whooped my butt with my first real workout in months. There has never been a time when I've regretted a purchase so much in my life. I guess I got what I deserved, and then some.
Cashier at the bakery, angry girl in my anatomy class, and currently burning abs: I apologize. From the bottom of my heart. It'll never happen again (not this week, anyway).
Insert mandatory plug: Got a more embarrassing story for me, or a similar one? Comment below! I'd love to hear from you all! **End mandatory plug**
All the best,
Reina
