The man walked up to the counter at the end of the long, warmly lit room. A couple was sitting in some overstuffed chairs in the corner, but otherwise the place was empty.
The clerks looked up as he approached. They had been talking and stopped as he got near. He smiled, but they just looked at him without returning the favor.
“Well, I’m not coming in for coffee this time,” he said.
This time. It had been many months since he’d been there. He tried not to let it show, but they were still not smiling, and he felt busted.
“I’m curious if you… Do you have any coffee grounds? You see I’m planting strawberries and…”
He felt like a panhandler: Need help. Will work for coffee grounds.
“Actually, we do have grounds,” one of them said. “But there’s this other couple…” and he held up his hands in a what-can-I-do pose.
“Oh I see. No, that’s just okay,” the man said, glad in a way that at least their grounds go to a good home. He smiled as he backed, up waving and then turning to leave.
“Do you want to stop at Starbucks?” his wife asked when he got into the car.
He didn’t want to. Somehow he felt a bit odd about the whole thing. He asked if she would. She said no. Maybe he’d try again on the weekend. The strawberries would have to wait.