Now Playing: “Hit Me With Your Best Shot”  Pat Benatar

Word Raccoon nearly had a showdown at the café yesterday morning.

By some miracle (or questionable decision-making), WR was at her post on the café porch before 8 a.m., sprawling across the mosaic-tiled table nearest the door. Prime spot for maximum nosiness. Breakfast half-eaten, poetry craft book open, solar charger sunbathing; it was a scene.

A couple of hours in, a woman of my acquaintance appeared, gave a hello, and then peered at my table.

“I was just seeing if this is all just you,” she said.

“Oh, I sprawl,” I said.

“There are four of us meeting here today,” she announced.

I almost offered her the chair holding my computer bag, but something about the tone, as if she had more right to my space than I did, irked me.

Word Raccoon fired a whole silent, thank god, monologue at her: “Look, hon: people have suggested they should put a memorial plaque on this porch for me. Has anyone told you the town feels ‘right’ when you’re writing here and not when you’re not? No? Then perhaps find yourself another chair, love. My bag is comfy where it is.”

Reader, there were plenty of tables and chairs indoors and out. She’s just used to getting her way. And I’ve seen groups of four happily use the corner table instead of mine.

She started scooting chairs around, irritation in the air, when one of her meeting companions arrived, a man I know who’s since moved out of town. I jumped up to hug him, share condolences on his recent loss, and fill him in on my writing. She looked sour, as if I were hijacking her meeting.

Which meant I found more I just had to share with him.

“I’m just gonna steal him for another minute,” I said. Word Raccoon in action.

When he went inside for coffee, I asked the woman if she was all set for the meeting at the corner table.
“I’ll let him decide,” she said, still prickly.

I shrugged, put my AirPods back in, and returned to work, telling Word Raccoon to keep her teeth to herself, though she had already formed half a retort involving chair legs, duct tape, and the phrase ‘porch royalty.’

And before you think I’m a porch prima donna, wherever I write, I tell the staff to shoo me if things get busy. I’ve given up tables mid-session for strangers, offered a chair at my table, allowed them to sit with me when asked and struck up lovely conversations as a result at times. I try to be thoughtful.

There were a couple of guys from Europe a few years back who used to love having their coffee on the porch every afternoon while they were working in the States. One day I noticed them go in and not come back out. I went inside and insisted they come take my table. (In part because I so enjoyed watching how much they savored their tiny cups of espresso. I mean…)

But this? This was pure entitlement. And no, she didn’t actually need the chair.

If she’s reading this, (she’s not) be grateful I kept WR on a leash. She’s in a mood from too much admin and says if I don’t let her create something fun soon, she’s going to chew my laptop cord plumb through, princess of petty that she is today.

We don’t want that.

P.S. You know I would never deny you a seat, right? All you have to do is ask nicely. Okay YOU I might not even make ask. Just move the bag. You might want to bring the raccoon a bribe, though. Preferably chocolate.