Staring at the puddle of coffee that had pooled in her skirt, Kitty wondered what the fabric was made of, and then whether karma hadn't caught up with her. It wasn't that she was a bad person. She hadn't done the things people would typically cite as bad things. Violent things or anything (besides the occasional joint) that was against the law. Nothing like theft, vandalism, or adultery. She hardly ever swore and went out of her way not to litter. But she was critical. She had to be in the sense that it was her job.
She was an art critic and she wrote for one of those witty, trendier-than-thou publications that required her to be a little snarky at least some of the time. And it was almost impossible to write in an entertaining tone otherwise she realized early on in her career and it was important to her not to lose her job. So she wrote snarky things sometimes and she knew they hurt people's feelings. It wasn't personal. But she had to wonder -- wouldn't you -- if it all might be catching up to her?
She had a definite opinion about what she did and did not like. And at least she was honest. But the only thing worse than sitting with a pool of coffee in your lap, wondering how you'll lift it just so and walk carrying it so carefully to a sink or someplace where you might spill it without making more of a mess, is knowing you're five cents short to buy another cup of coffee to replace it.
Five cents. What do you do, ask a stranger for a handout, risk raised eyebrows becuase its better than falling asleep on your laptop when you're supposed to be writing? Or do you ride the nicotene withdrawl and think how you know you're five cents short without even looking because you had very carefully counted your change that morning. Just enough for a cup of coffee for breakfast and an everything bagel with vegetable cream cheese for lunch. She had ordered precisely this way from Just So Beans on the corner on many days just before pay day, between comissions and freelance checks. Oddly enough the bagel was five cents less than the large coffee at Beans's. Not a bad deal when you're broke.
It was the fact she was broke, again, that made her wonder if a karma cleansing was in order. And where do you get one of those anyway? Was it even a real thing or just one of those things New Age stores advertised but no one could prove if they really worked or not and the kind of people likely to pay for it in the first place wanted to believe so bad you wouldn't catch them making a fuss.
So which person would she be today? The five-cent beggar or the self-reflective masochist? Eenie meenie. Shouldn't be a such a hard decision really, but Kitty didn't want to be either one of those people. At that particular moment, in fact, she would have happily traded places with just about anyone. The boutique owner walking her dog- absolutely. The state office employee looking like every other state office employee in his business casual slacks and shirt open at the neck and black-rimmed daytime-only glasses. Without a doubt. Just for one day.
She was an art critic and she wrote for one of those witty, trendier-than-thou publications that required her to be a little snarky at least some of the time. And it was almost impossible to write in an entertaining tone otherwise she realized early on in her career and it was important to her not to lose her job. So she wrote snarky things sometimes and she knew they hurt people's feelings. It wasn't personal. But she had to wonder -- wouldn't you -- if it all might be catching up to her?
She had a definite opinion about what she did and did not like. And at least she was honest. But the only thing worse than sitting with a pool of coffee in your lap, wondering how you'll lift it just so and walk carrying it so carefully to a sink or someplace where you might spill it without making more of a mess, is knowing you're five cents short to buy another cup of coffee to replace it.
Five cents. What do you do, ask a stranger for a handout, risk raised eyebrows becuase its better than falling asleep on your laptop when you're supposed to be writing? Or do you ride the nicotene withdrawl and think how you know you're five cents short without even looking because you had very carefully counted your change that morning. Just enough for a cup of coffee for breakfast and an everything bagel with vegetable cream cheese for lunch. She had ordered precisely this way from Just So Beans on the corner on many days just before pay day, between comissions and freelance checks. Oddly enough the bagel was five cents less than the large coffee at Beans's. Not a bad deal when you're broke.
It was the fact she was broke, again, that made her wonder if a karma cleansing was in order. And where do you get one of those anyway? Was it even a real thing or just one of those things New Age stores advertised but no one could prove if they really worked or not and the kind of people likely to pay for it in the first place wanted to believe so bad you wouldn't catch them making a fuss.
So which person would she be today? The five-cent beggar or the self-reflective masochist? Eenie meenie. Shouldn't be a such a hard decision really, but Kitty didn't want to be either one of those people. At that particular moment, in fact, she would have happily traded places with just about anyone. The boutique owner walking her dog- absolutely. The state office employee looking like every other state office employee in his business casual slacks and shirt open at the neck and black-rimmed daytime-only glasses. Without a doubt. Just for one day.
