Outside your comfort zone…that is where adventure lies. Where your mettle is tested. Where that which is alien to you provides the challenge to grow, be it through victory or defeat.
Whenever Kev exits the comfort zone of the expressway and winds through the sprawling, residential neighborhoods of Chicago, he gets uneasy. The clusters of ethnicity make him feel like an outsider, a throwback to the tribal code imprinted on his DNA. Doesn’t matter if the neighborhood is predominantly Greek, black, Mexican, Russian, Chinese, Irish, Puerto Rican, or German, if it isn’t populated with folks of protestant Norwegian descent, he feels out of place. Not scared, exactly, but more cautious. Wary not to offend the local populace.
Maybe a little scared.
The small, mid-western Illinois farming community where Kev grew up had very little diversity. The most ethnic people in town were the Moranos. They were Italian. And Catholic.
Kev married into a family of Polish immigrants from the south side of Chicago. He was terrified on his first trip to the “old neighborhood.” They drove through a sea of ever-changing cultures, thousands of tiny houses crammed next to each other, the streets lined with cars, bars and words in languages he couldn’t decipher. After decades of visiting, Kev grew comfortable with the old neighborhood. He didn’t feel like he belonged, but he felt welcome.
Anchored by a Catholic church and a locals-only tavern, just a short walk from Comiskey Park where da White Sox play, the old neighborhood is made up of row upon row of single story brick bungalows with just enough room between them to run a sidewalk. Narrow streets lined with trees and cars. Old folding chairs sit in parking spaces “reserved” for residents. Front porches and stoops alive with people watching their kids run and play while they gossip and share cold beers or hot coffee. Dogs bark and barbeques smoke in tiny, well-manicured back yards, filling the air with the aroma of grilled sausages, fish, steaks and whole turkeys. Garages are at the back of each lot opening onto the alley. This is where the men live, the buildings converted into man-caves, where they drink, smoke, watch sports on TV and play cards or darts while keeping an eye on the grill and just a shout away from home.
Kev had never eaten better than at holiday gatherings and celebrations in the old neighborhood. Nor danced more, often to the point of exhaustion, usually in the company of a great aunt or grandmother more than twice his age, barely breaking a sweat and drinking him under the table. But sometime the music has to end.
They were on our way home from a wake of one such beloved great aunt. While Kev had become used to the destination and even the route there, the exotic locales surrounding the old neighborhood still put his nerves on heightened alert. It was about quarter of nine in the evening, when his wife, Jess, wanted some decaf coffee for the forty minute return trip to the Western suburbs. Kev caught sight of a Starbucks, a recognizable icon in this sea of cultural cacophony. It seemed a safe haven. He pulled their minivan into the parking lot.
“Oh, drive-thru,” he said. That would be the safest option. No reason to get out of the car, even to take it out of gear.
There was no line at the drive-thru at eight forty-five at night. Kev surveyed the surroundings, checked the mirrors, then lowered his window and waited. Nothing. He pressed the call button. Still nothing. No sound but the Barney DVD playing in the back of the van, entertaining their seven- and two-year old daughters.
“Are they closed?” Jess asked.
“I dunno,” Kev said. He checked the mirrors again, then searched for a sign stating the hours of operation. He tried the button again.
Nothing.
“I really wanted some coffee,” Jess said. She used the voice. Kev recognized it immediately. It was the same inflection she had used when she’d been pregnant to send him out for ice cream in the middle of the night. Not guilt, exactly, more a plea from a helpless damsel to her suitor, to her shining knight. A quest! Was Kev worthy of the task? Could he overcome his unwarranted, borderline racist fears to sate his lover’s desire? Kev thought how our modern age has reduced dragon slaying to decaf coffee runs in unfamiliar neighborhoods.
He summoned a modicum of courage and said, “I’ll try the front door,” though he really didn’t want to get out of the car. Kev examined the situation. They were on a major street, lots of traffic. Lighting in the lot was good. No one dangerous-looking was in sight. He pulled to the space closest to the front door.
As he stepped out, Jess said, “Would you get me a cookie or something, too?” Kev nodded. They had eaten pretty light, no time for dinner, only snacking on fresh, homemade Polish bakery at the wake – kolaczky, chrusciki and nut cups. Delicious! But the coffee had looked older than her deceased great aunt. So they had passed on it.
Kev left the car and the singing dinosaur running. “Just a small decaf with cream and sugar!” Jess called out as he shut the door. He nodded to her again. He’d been making her coffee for seventeen years, he knew how she liked it. Kev knew how to make it for her better than she did.
He reached the front door of the Starbucks and nearly fell over as the quick jerk he used to open it failed its task. It was locked. Kev glanced through the glass and saw three bright-green-apron-clad employees all casually look up at him, then back to their respective coffeehouse duties. He tried the other door. It was locked too. No one looked up this time. Kev scanned the door and found the posted business hours: 6:00am – 9:00pm. He checked his watch to confirm that it was in fact fifteen minutes ‘til closing for these guys. Kev rapped lightly on the door until he got the attention of the guy seated at the table, going over the company’s books. Kev gestured at his watch, but the employee just returned his attention to his books. The guy counting out the cashier drawer shook his head and laughed. The other one kept mopping the floor.
Kev got back in the van and put it in reverse. “What, are they closed?” Jess asked.
“Not supposed to be for another fifteen minutes,” Kev said, disgusted. He drove back to the drive-thru and pressed the call button. Nothing.
“You think this will work?” Jess asked, the subtext clearly This isn’t going to work.
“I dunno,” Kev muttered and pressed the button again. There was a dragon to be slain. He was determined to find a way.
The speaker crackled, then a muffled electronic voice said, “We’re closed.”
Kev flinched at the sound. He hadn’t actually expected an answer. He regained his composure and said, “Your sign says you’re open ‘til nine.”
After a pause, as if inside they had to discuss what response to give, came, “We’re outta coffee.”
Starbucks—out of coffee. This dragon was wily indeed.
Kev turned to Jess and repeated what she’d already heard, “They’re out of coffee. And fresh out of apologies, too, apparently. Along with any concept of customer service. Did you want me to ask about the cookies?”
“I really wanted some coffee,” Jess sighed. The voice again. A stabbing wound. A failed quest.
Over the insipid giddiness of the friendly purple dinosaur and his friends, Becca, their oldest daughter piped up from the back seat, “I’m still hungry.”
Kev pulled back onto the street and was stopped at a traffic light. He took in the local billboards. Most were in Spanish. At some point, their journey had taken them from old Warsaw to south of the border. The hotels and apartment buildings that lined the busy street were on the lower socio-economic end. Kev’s stomach muscles tightened a bit and he mentally reminded himself not to start any trouble. He was a guest in another tribe’s territory. Perhaps the custom here was to close shop early. Suck it up and move on.
The Fates granted him another chance to fulfill his noble task. The light turned green, and on the opposite corner of the Starbucks was a Dunkin Donuts.
“Oh!” Jess said, also noticing the neon orange and pink logo. She perked up at the renewed possibility of satisfying her coffee fix. Kev was already pulling into the lot. He looked for a drive-thru. No such luck.
Another car screeched around the corner and into the lot. A late model domestic sedan with a recent custom paint job. It parked next to Jess and Kev’s minivan on the passenger side. The bass from the hip-hop music blared through the closed windows of both vehicles. Barney was bopping to a whole new beat. The windows and Kev’s back teeth began to vibrate in sync.
“Can I go in, too?” asked Becca.
“No,” he snapped, a micro-second after the question left her mouth. Becca looked startled, then sad.
“Oh, take her in, let her get something,” Jess said. Kev glared at her, trying to convey with his eyes the danger that lurked loudly just outside her door. She was oblovious – oblivious to the obvious.
“Look, I’ll go real fast,” Kev said as he jumped out. He double-clicked the door lock on the key fob he’d removed the from the key ring, leaving the keys in the ignition and Barney shucking and jiving while also allowing Kev access to and from a secure vehicle. Jess called out, muffled through the windshield and the music, “Just a small decaf with cream and sugar.” Kev looked at her with the I know look, and she waved to get his attention and added, “And maybe a donut?”
Kev hit the lock button on the key fob, answering her with a short toot from the horn and walked around the building to the entrance.
The front of the store was literally two feet from the street, which was a six-lane thoroughfare. The door was filthy. Kev’s attire was more formal for the wake. The girls all wore dresses and he had a black suit and tie. He was seriously overdressed for Dunkin Donuts. Two guys in factory-worker clothes pushed past him on their way out with large cups of coffee in their hands.
The single clerk was standing behind counter-to-ceiling bullet-proof Plexiglas. It looked like a currency exchange in a bad neighborhood. The Dunkin Donuts in our area must not be victims of armed robbery as often as this one, Kev thought. The fish out of water sensation in his gut became more pronounced. The scene played into the quest theme with the decaf dragon locked deep within its keep. Kev wanted to slay the beast quickly and get back to the safety of the minivan.
A man in his thirties of Middle-Eastern decent stood behind the glass, wearing an eager smile, ready to take Kev’s order. There was an older woman behind the clerk, talking on the phone.
“Two small decaf coffees, please,” Kev said. After all this, he wanted some coffee too. He looked over the donut selection. Pretty sparse at nine PM.
The man picked up two empty coffee cups. “Cream and sugar?” he asked.
“Two creams, one sugar,” Kev answered, meaning sugar in one of them and cream in both, though that wasn’t clearly communicated.
The bell at the front door chimed and with it came a familiar voice and patter of feet. “Daddy!” Becca said and ran to hug Kev’s leg. His eyes grew wide, or more accurately, wild. Had Jess really let Becca come in here, along that busy street, all by herself in this neighborhood at this time of night?! The door chimed again and two more factory-worker looking men with leathery skin and five o’clock shadows walked in the door and stood behind them in line.
“I want a pink lemonade,” Becca said, pointing to the refrigerated beverages sitting out in front of the counter. Kev kept one hand on her shoulder and turned back to the clerk who was finishing up adding sugar to one of the coffees, and then he moved on to add sugar to the other too.
“No!!” Kev said, a little more forceful than intended. He startled the clerk and Becca, too. The walls of Kev’s paranoia were closing in on him. His chest tightened to match his clenched abdomen. “No,” Kev repeated, softer this time, “two creams and one sugar.”
The clerk looked at him with a puzzled expression. The woman on the phone brought the receiver to her breast and barked something at the clerk. It was no language Kev knew, but the meaning unnerved the clerk who flinched, then dumped both cups of coffee into the sink to start from scratch.
“Daaadddyy…” Becca said, tugging on Kev’s suit coat.
“Oh, and a pink lemonade,” Kev said. He bent down to kiss Becca and ruffled her hair. No need for her to sense his fear. When he straightened up, Kev was greeted by a key attached to a large, heavy object, dangling from a hand protruding from a small opening in the glass. He looked back at the drink cooler and saw that it was locked. It kinda defeats the purpose of locking the drinks up if the procedure to get them was to hand the key to the customer, Kev thought as he took the key.
He stooped down to the display case, turning the object attached to the key over in his hand. It was metal, painted but worn. Some sort of work of art, he supposed, though the detail and symbols seemed utterly foreign. He unlocked the large, steel padlock on the door of the case as he realized the object’s purpose. It was too big, heavy and awkward to easily place into a pocket. Clever, thought Kev, then fumbled and dropped lock along with the key and its decorative anchor on the floor. The clankity-bang caused everyone sitting at the tables a few feet away to look up quickly, apprehensively, perhaps defensively, from their conversations. Kev met their steely glares and started to appreciate the bullet-proof Plexiglas a little more.
“That was loud, Daddy,” Becca said.
Kev smiled at her and continued on the lemonade mini-quest. He was juggling more damsels than he could handle. It wasn’t hot, but sweat actively pooled in his armpits and at his temples. He opened the door, removed a pink bottle, shut the door, re-affixed and closed the lock and returned the odd-shaped anchor-laden key to the still protruding, disembodied hand.
Kev stepped closer to the round metal vent mouth-high on the glass and said, “And the two small decaf coffees, please.”
“We are out of decaf,” came the accented response through the vent.
Kev was stunned.
“Can I get a long-john with vanilla frosting?” Becca asked. Her eyes were wide and pleading. Kev put a hand on her shoulder, acknowledging her request, but non-verbally tabling it for the moment.
“You have no decaf,” Kev said, not a question, but a statement of utter disbelief.
The donut guy smiled and shrugged his shoulders, “I have the regular,” he offered. The woman behind him had returned to her animated phone conversation in a very foreign language.
“You have no decaf?” This time it was a question, but kind of a threat, too, like, you’d better be joking about the no decaf buddy, ‘cause my wife really wants some decaf, I’m on this noble errand, see, and it really shouldn’t be that difficult to satisfy such a simple request yet you’re the second coffee house in a hundred yards to deny me this basic dragon to slay and it’s beginning to really piss me off!
The clerk seemed to understand. “I’m just brewing a fresh pot.” He’d thrown out the last two cups after Kev had yelled at him.
“How long will that take?” Kev asked, in a less threatening tone.
The clerk shrugged, guessing, “Two minutes?”
Two minutes?! Kev thought. Jess and the baby were out in that dark parking lot next to that car full of possible gang-bangers. Did he really want to wait another two minutes?
“Daddy…” Becca said under her breath, pulling again at his coat, reminding Kev of her wish for the long-john. He could see the decaf pot brewing behind the clerk. Maybe it wouldn’t take two minutes. Besides, he had to get donuts, too.
“Okay, fine,” Kev said. “Can I get a vanilla frosted long-john and a blueberry cake donut, too,” he added. Jess would have eaten any donut but she loved the blueberry cake.
The clerk nodded in acknowledgment of the order, “And two small decaf coffees,” he said.
“Right,” Kev said. He couldn’t believe how long this quest for a decaf coffee was taking. He was anxious to conclude his business and be on his way. He turned and smiled at the two guys behind him in line. They did not return the gesture.
The clerk bagged the baked goods and shoved them through the hole in the protective glass, next to the lemonade, then picked up two empty coffee cups. “Cream and sugar?” he asked again.
“Two creams, one sugar,” Kev said, raising two fingers on one hand and one on the other.
“Two creams and one sugar?” the clerk echoed, as if that was not right at all.
“Two creams and one sugar,” Kev confirmed with confidence.
“Two creams and one sugar?” the clerk repeated, still unable to believe that’s what Kev had said. Kev knew the clerk was speaking English, but what he said seemed as foreign as the conversation the woman was having on the phone behind him.
In his weary, sweaty, stressed out state, Kev couldn’t think of any other way of phrasing the order, so he just kept repeating the same five words, “Two creams and one sugar,” as pleasant as if saying, Yep, and have a great day!
“Two creams and one sugar?”
“Two creams and one sugar.” It had become their mantra. On and on they went, neither pausing to rearticulate for clarity, both looking at the other as though he were an idiot. And both being correct.
“Two creams and one sugar?”
One of the factory guys behind them said something under his breath to the other. “Daddy, I think that man said a bad word,” Becca said. Kev ignored them. He was mired in his own hell of communication breakdown.
“Two creams and one sugar,” Ken assured the frazzled clerk, thinking, Zippedy-doo-dah, this ain’t that tough, donut man!
“Two creams and one sugar,” this time the clerk was saying it to himself, shaking his head slightly in disbelief or confusion. The two minutes were not quite up and the entire 120 seconds had revolved around the two of them repeating the same phrase to each other. The clerk noticed the other customers and said to them, “May I help you?”
The first man looked at Kev, acknowledging that he was behind him in line and not sure what to make of the situation. “We’re waiting for the decaf to brew,” Kev told him.
The man nodded, understanding, then ordered a large coffee – black. The other guy ordered a large coffee with cream and sugar. The clerk filled the orders. Kev thought he would try to ease the tension with the factory guys, make a little joke. So he turned to the second one and asked, “Only one cream one sugar?”
The man just stared at Kev without expression. If Becca had not been there, Kev thought he might have been physically injured. There was something going on between Kev and the donut guy involving two creams and one sugar, but the factory dude didn’t want to find out. Kev looked away awkwardly, at the ceiling and then the floor.
The men paid for their drinks and left. The clerk grabbed the two small coffee cups and dumped a bunch of sugar into each one. Kev couldn’t believe it. “Uhh, I don’t want sugar in one of those,” he said. This dragon would not die!
The clerk looked at Kev like he was pulling his leg. “One sugar only,” Kev said, referring him back to the insane verbal exchange they’d had just moments ago, “But cream in both.”
The clerk was frustrated, that much was clear. Kev didn’t think the clerk thought he was screwing around with him, but he couldn’t be sure. The woman set the phone down long enough to ask the clerk something like, what the hell is going on? He told her he was waiting on the decaf to brew, pointing at the nearly full pot.
He took a cup in each hand, tossed the sugar out of them both, held only one up to the glass and said, “Sugar?”
“Yes,” Kev replied. Now we were getting somewhere.
The clerk held up the other cup, “Sugar?”
“No,” Kev said. There, that was easy.
The clerk shook his head, finally understanding, “No sugar. Regular.” And he went for the coffee pot.
“Yes,” Kev said. “Well, decaf.” He was pretty sure the clerk knew that, but wasn’t taking any chances. “I do want cream in both of them,” Kev reminded him quickly, before he filled the cups.
The clerk stopped, placed the carafe back on the burner and picked up the first cup again, “Cream?” he asked, gesturing with the cup. Kev nodded. He added cream to the sugar, then filled it with decaf coffee. Then he held up the second cup and repeated, “Cream?” Kev nodded again. In the midst of filling that cup with coffee, the realization dawned on him like a spotlight in his mind. The clerk’s eyes lit up and he started to smile, “Ahhh…two creams, one sugar!”
Good lord, what a moron, Kev thought, but smiled politely. Then it hit him. The clerk thought he wanted sugar and extra cream in both coffees. It seemed so obvious. Kev shook his head at himself, Good lord, what a moron.
The clerk passed one cup through the Plexiglas, tapped its cover and said, “Cream and sugar.” He passed the second, identical cup through and tapped it, saying, “Cream,” then tapped the first one again and said, “Cream and sugar,” in case Kev had forgotten from when he’d told him eight seconds earlier.
Kev paid him, Becca grabbed her drink and the bag of donuts and they headed for the parking lot. Jess was staring through the windshield, her eyes saying What took you so long? And Kev just shook his head. He was carrying both very hot cups of coffee. He asked Jess to open her window and take a cup so he could help Becca get in the van. She complied, but gave him a nervous turn around and look! non-verbal shifting of her eyes. The decaf dragon had been slain, but Kev was not yet out of danger.
As he assisted Becca, Kev looked over at the car parked next to them. Three young men under twenty-five sat smoking inside, staring in his direction through dark sunglasses. It was pushing nine-thirty. Any nervousness or heightened sensitivity to the surroundings seemed totally justified in the presence of these gangsta-types, their rap music still thumping loudly as they stared in their sinister demeanor at his Barney watching, minivan driving, suburban family. Were they carjackers? Kidnappers? Donut thieves? Kev didn’t want to hang around long enough to find out.
Kev’s cultural paranoia, which had been brewing longer than the pot of decaf, peaked. Becca climbed into her car seat. He glanced over his shoulder at the car, the occupants were still staring at him. Well, not at Kev, at the minivan. Kev did a quick estimation based on their line of site and realized that they were not staring at him, they were watching the Barney video playing on the TV hanging from the ceiling of the van. They were transfixed by the antics of the purple dino and his friends set to their inner-city soundtrack. Kev wondered if it was as synchronistic as Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon supposedly was to the Wizard of Oz.
But he didn’t really want to find out, nor get into a discussion with them about it. He snapped Becca’s seatbelt into place and, in his haste, fumbled with the other cup of coffee. It dropped to the ground, splashing on his shoe and pant leg.
Becca looked back from her seat, “Oops,” she said, hoping the blunder wasn’t somehow her fault. Kev raised his eyebrows at her to quell her concern, then shut her door.
He shook the drips of creamy coffee from his left foot, too tired to even swear. The smoke-filled sedan rocked on its shocks as its occupants rolled with hysterics at the situation. Kev walked around to the driver’s side and got in.
“You dropped your coffee?” Jess said.
Kev didn’t answer. He realized in that moment how trapped he had been in the paranoia of other cultures when he actually shared a good deal in common with those he had considered alien. Jess’s grieving family, all missing her beloved great aunt. The Starbucks gang, who just wanted to go home early. The donut clerk, frustrated with what seemed a simple phrase uttered from a stranger. The young men in the car, amazed that anyone could derive entertainment value from Barney.
Jess took a sip of the long-sought after beverage. Her face scrunched up. “There’s just cream; no sugar,” she said.
Kev had slain her dragon. He had been blessed with an epiphany of personal growth on this trek outside of his comfort zone, a bonus Holy Grail! His quest was over. He was tired and any flame of further nobility was as doused as his coffee-soaked and lightly sweetened pant leg.
The lids of his eyes narrowed as the pupils slowly re-directed from the traffic ahead to focus on Jess. A look that said we will ride in silence now for a while and you will enjoy your donut and decaf coffee without sugar.
Except for the dinosaur’s insipid giggling through nursery rhyme songs, that’s what they did.