Coffee Kerfuffle 

© Albert Marsolais

I usually don’t comment on people’s hair, but that morning Brian’s comb-over was randomly tossed to make him look like the mad scientist he was. But before I could say anything, out came fingers from gloves to re-arrange the mess into a semblance of good order. I smiled at his efficient accomplishment and said my good mornings, as we removed coats and hats. 

We were at our local coffee shop, decorated in the company’s traditional muddy browns and yellows. Brian had ordered his usual, a large double-double coffee with blueberry muffin. I satisfied myself with a medium black, no sugar, since I was on another version of my recurring diets. This time it was one of those intermittent fasting tortures. 

“Did you see that hat-trick last night?” Brian asked. 

I shook my head in the middle of a sip, causing the too-hot coffee to dribble down my chin. “It was too late. You know I go to bed early.” 

Brian scowled as though my sleeping habits were a weakness. “Yeah, third hat-trick this year. The Leafs may win it yet.” 

I nodded in support yet didn’t quite agree since the Toronto Maple Leafs hadn’t won a hockey championship in over fifty years. But Brian was encouraged, as most fans are by any good news, and went on to give a play-by-play of what I’d missed. I didn’t mind. He was my friend since we worked at the veterinary college, he as an assistant professor, and me as a tech. We were retired now and met a few times a week at the coffee shop to gossip and share expert opinions on world affairs. 

Brian flipped his hair back again to cover his bald spot. He’d finished his homage to the Leafs, and I could tell he was ready to move on. 

“The government is going to reduce income taxes,” I said in a louder voice, since the place was filling rapidly with customers shouting into phones and at each other, in a friendly manner, of course. It was near ten o’clock and working people were lined up for their mid-morning caffeine dose. 

“Yeah, heard that on the news this morning, but it won’t apply to us; our pensions are above the threshold.” 

“Ahh,” I nodded, fully expecting a revision. He always did that. An old habit from his time as professor when he had to prove his mastery, constantly. It was part of who he was, and sometimes he did come up with interesting new info. 

“They left us out again, didn’t they? No doubt our taxes will go up to pay for it.” 

“Perhaps,” I said, “or they will increase taxes on the rich.” 

Brian almost spewed a mouthful of coffee. That was my intention, knowing his conservative bent. “Are you nuts!” he said after clearing his throat. “That’s a horrible idea. It would wreck the economy. Surely, you know that?” 

“Well, they did that one time―” 

“Years ago!” he interrupted. “And only when there was that damned socialist party knocking on the door before the election. 

“True enough,” I said, grinning at him. 

The coffee shop had filled, and it was becoming ever more difficult to be heard, so we silently focused on our coffees. Brian was one of those older men with an ample paunch and slouch, proof of years doing little else than living seated. Mind you, I was no better, but at least I tried to slow the decline with my weekly yoga and pickle ball classes. 

Brian was picking at the remaining bits of muffin, when the hubbub noticeably decreased. Someone shouted. Brian’s head snapped away from his muffin and toward the order counter behind me. 

“Go back to where you came from!” It was a woman’s voice. I reflexively turned to watch. The woman was yelling at the young south Asian man at the counter taking her order. Many angry words from both followed, stinging the air. I could hear Brian behind me grumbling about bad manners. Others near us couldn’t help but express support for one side or the other. Then a burly man in the queue yelled at the woman to get out of the way because he didn’t have time for all this. Well to be honest, he wasn’t that polite. A few others chimed in with rude assent, one calling her a Karen. The woman turned to face them; her face flushed. She said something unkind in return then hustled past the queue and out the door. 

“Oh, no,” I said, realizing who it was. “I know that woman.” 

I turned back to Brian who seemed to be enjoying the scene, the corners of his mouth upturned in a wee lopsided smile. “Gotta go,” I said to him. “Be back in a few minutes.” Grabbing my coat and hat, I chased her out the door. 

She was in the parking lot in her Mazda 3 sedan. It was Brenda, my neighbour from across the street, a plump blond of middle years who worked as a real estate agent. She was slumped over the steering wheel, crying. I tapped on her window. She looked up, recognized me, grimaced, then lowered the car window. Her face was a mess; her makeup stained, and her coif undone. “Are you OK” I asked stupidly. 

“Obviously not,” she replied, angrily. “You saw how I was treated. Should be a law…” She went on like that for several minutes. I’d heard complaints like that before. It was constantly on the news: the massive immigration and resulting social disruptions. I neither agreed nor disagreed with her, just listened, standing there in the cold, bent toward the car window, my back aching. She needed sympathy and I wanted to be sure she got to work safely. When the rants and sobbing subsided and her reddened face reverted to its natural tanned pink I said, “Please say hello to Bob for me, and tell him I won’t forget his kindness.” 

She looked at me, not understanding. “OK,” she said with the beginnings of a smile. She reached to start her car. I straightened and went back into the coffee shop, but not before giving her a smile and a wave as she drove past. 

Inside, I rejoined the lineup, flashing Brian two fingers which meant two coffees. He nodded in response. Several minutes later I was facing the same lad who had been verbally abused. I ordered, paid, then leaned toward him and said, “Please forgive that woman earlier. She’s been under a lot of stress, recently.” 

He said nothing in response, his face looking tired or maybe sad. I wasn’t sure if he heard me or understood, but others were waiting their turn, so I stepped aside to wait for the coffees. 

“Is your lady friend alright?” asked Brian, taking the proffered coffee. 

I shrugged.  

“Caused quite a kerfuffle.” 

“Yeah.” I removed my coat once again and sat, enjoying the warmth of the coffee cup on my cold hands. 

“Immigration is good for this country,” Brian began, and I knew I was in for another lecture. He didn’t disappoint, beginning with the apparently well-known fact that many people here are lazy and don’t want to work, forcing employers to bring in foreign workers. This was followed by an unnecessary explanation of the supply/demand curve.  

I listened politely, sipping and nodding till he ended with his opinion that people like my neighbour ought to appreciate the wealth created by immigration.  

“But…but,” I said, eventually catching his attention. “Her realty business is failing because immigrants prefer to deal with their own, and youth like her son can no longer get a part-time job at places like this.” 

“Oh, too bad.” said Brian, his voice lacking sincerity. 

“And to make matters worse, her husband had his factory wages cut because of competition from foreigners subsidized by our government.” 

“Agreed. I hate government handouts. They are an abomination and distort the marketplace,” he wagged his head gravely as he spoke. This from a man whose university career existed entirely through government programs. 

“They’ve been under a lot of financial stress, Brian. And many are in her situation, especially young people.” 

“Too many have made bad choices, too.” 

I forced a smile. “Perhaps a few, but we’ve been lucky. Admit it.” 

“Me? I worked damned hard and made smart moves―” 

“It was largely good fortune,” I insisted. 

His eyebrows arched, signalling a furious retort being readied to fling at me. I was annoyed by his callous attitude, but it wasn’t worth hurt feelings, so I quickly pivoted to his beloved Leafs. “What time is the game tonight?”