Tag Archives: cafe

A Bad Day

She faced her fear – the big, bad city – on the off chance she would get the job. A cab splashed her as if she were in a movie, so she was waterlogged as she entered the waiting area. The couches were filled by people with portfolios fancier or larger than hers, in some instances both. The room was past the maximum occupancy of confidence, none of it hers. Not to mention during the interview, her potential boss apparently had a cat, so she sneezed her way through most of her answers.

After that tragedy, she decided that her trip to the city shouldn’t be a total waste and stopped at a little café that looked like it was taken right from a French film. She sat at a table outside and ordered a chai latte, watching cars drive by, listening to the constant sounds of city life: horns, passing conversations, even some construction that sounded a block or so away soundtracked her moment, which she was actually starting to enjoy. Maybe the city wasn’t so bad.

That’s when her phone rang and she recognized the number of the place she’d just interviewed. She gasped and fumbled with the phone a bit, excited that they would call so fast.

“Hello, Miss Jason?” a voice on the other line said.

“Oh it’s actually Jansson,” she corrected as she fixed her hair and smiled.

“We just wanted to let you know you left your portfolio here. Please come and get it by the end of the day or it will be discarded.” At that they hung up.

Her eyes glassed up but she refused to let it phase her. After calmly finishing her drink, she headed back to building that already held such miserable memories and rushed up the two flights of stairs, unwilling to wait for the elevator. She wanted out of this office, this building, this city as fast as she could.

After snatching her portfolio from the obnoxious receptionist’s hand she rushed the few blocks back to her car only to find her windshield adorned with a parking ticket.

She yanked it out from under the wiper, got into the car, and drove home as fast as she could.


His and Hers

“Look at this!” she said, pointing at the two Buddy Scooters parked side-by-side on the sidewalk, one a pale orange and the other a light blue.  “Beautiful.  I love it.  I wish I had my camera.”

“I have mine,” he said, foraging through his messenger bag trying to find it.

“Do you have an eye for these things?”

“Of course.  I love photography.  Do you?”  She nodded.  “Good.”  He snapped a few photos and then held the camera out for her to see.  She moved her oversized sunglasses to the tip of her nose and looked over them into the tiny screen.

“Good.  Do you think they belong to a couple?”

“His and hers scooters, I would think so.” 

“I think this is so cute.”

“But you aren’t a romantic,” he said, the corners of his mouth raised a tiny bit.

“I never said I was not a romantic.”

“Yes you did.”

She stomped her foot a bit with a smile on her face.  “This does not necessarily prove I am a romantic.  This doesn’t make sense.”

“I knew you were.  We can smell our own.”

She started walking again, hoping to change the subject.  “What does it matter.  Romantic, unromantic, this does not matter.  And this proves nothing,” she said, gesturing back towards the vehicles.  He stopped walking, forcing her to stop as well and turn back to look at him.

“You find the idea of a couple who each have a scooter, the same model but in different colors, beautiful.  You probably pictured this perfect couple driving them between cars down the street, stopping at traffic lights and smiling at one another, maybe stopping at some cute little café for lunch…that is what makes you a romantic.  But it really doesn’t matter if you are or aren’t, I just think you’re in denial.”

She smiled and walked towards him, taking his arm and turning him around.  “Look,” she said, aiming him towards the scooters.

A couple had left the building and approached the Buddies, unlocked the helmet boxes on the back and removed a blue and an orange helmet.  The guy put on the orange one and sat on the blue bike, while the girl put on the blue one and sat on the orange moped.

“Come, let’s go to a café,” she said to him.

Photographs by Dennis Finocchiaro