A coffee order led to a surprising moment of recognition for Visalia woman | Opinion

It’s unfortunately apparent these days that one of the diminishing bonds we all share is anxiety. People everywhere are anxious about the uncertainty of the future, and the “troubled times” in which we live.

It’s on television: “Better buy this now, before the tariffs kick in.” It’s in the news where our collective, daily struggles are highlighted ad nauseum, and it’s included frequently in conversation: “Aaarrgghhh, the price of eggs.”

We are barraged from all sides with the notion that the status of the world is historically unprecedented, and we may be nearing some sort of end. Patience and civility seem rare. The sense of community and the reassuring knowledge that “We’ll get through this together,” are fading fast.

This is why I was recently brought to tears while ordering a coffee in the drive-through on my way to work. I don’t consider myself especially indulgent when it comes to buying an absurdly priced cup of coffee, but I do stop once a week, during my one-hour commute to work. It’s certainly not enough to make me a known regular at the coffee place on my route.

But today, as I pulled up to the speaker and returned the friendly greeting to the person at the other end, I was taken aback when she asked, “Would you like your usual today?” In the same instant, my regular, somewhat contrived order appeared on the screen!

“How did you know?” I stammered toward the menu screen once my dropped jaw could form words. “We know!” she replied, in a tone so sweet I could hear her smile. When I pulled up to the window, I told the barista “You know, I don’t come here every day, or often enough to have a ‘usual.’ How do you guys know my order?”

His answer initiated the tears. He explained how “It’s easy.” If someone comes two or three times and orders the same thing, they remember, and the person who ordered it, too. He said that during the morning rush, between 6 a.m. and 8 a.m., they rarely have to ask for anyone’s order. As each car files through, “It’s always just the usual, for car after car after car,” he said.

I think I responded with, “Wow! Isn’t that something!” Then he asked if I would like anything else (I didn’t) and handed me my drink. “Have a great day and drive safe,” he added, smiling broadly. It felt like one of those extra-long Hallmark commercials they show at Christmas time.

It catches you unawares, a whole story in carefully crafted scenes crammed into 60 seconds. It grabs and squeezes your heart, leaving you stymied by the end. “They know me, and my usual,” I said aloud as I pulled away.

I know there are cameras in the menu screens so they can see us in the drive through, but I never expected that a giant coffee chain would remember me, out of the masses of their customers, and know my order. I felt my throat tighten and tears begin to well. I have never been known enough anywhere to have a usual.

What’s the big deal, you ask? Even in these “troubled times,” with the heaviness of mistrust, anger, and division all around us, I — and apparently a whole lot of others, too — are known to have a “usual” someplace. We are known commodities and considered — unbeknownst to us — part of a somewhat misguided community, but it’s a community, nonetheless. Reminiscent of the beloved and recently passed Norm at the Cheers Bar, friendliness and good humor are still alive out there among the public.

As a challenge to our collective anxiety, we might look harder for the common connections that unite us. I feel a kinship now with all the dopes who, like me, pay through the nose for a designer cup of coffee. But knowing I’m someone who is remembered, with a usual, feels pretty good!