Choose Strong
For Tim.
My old Fremont neighborhood looked the same. Constructed in the 1960s, the one-
and two-story stucco houses shared block walls, each with three neighbors. They
were built, I was told, for low-income families at the time. Conveniently located at
the edge of the tech center and in a great school district, the area experienced
fast growth in recent years. More high-tech workers moved in and reshaped the
demographic profile.
The latest rains gave the vegetation a boost. Our house had only one level and
the yards were relatively small. Mowing and shearing took me about one hour and
afterwards I visited my favorite coffee joint for a cup of joe.
I came here for more than ten years and had many memories: the young, energetic,
and easy-going baristas, the students burying their heads in books, the daily
gatherings of half a dozen raucous Philipino geezers, the Sunday uniformed
Indian cricket team, and even a few neighbood wierdos.
The last time I came here was after my two-week quarantine and I parked for the
morning in the corner sofa. A short but athletic-looking young man, maybe a college
student, was sitting across the room and talking to himself. As his voice kept
rising, I could tell he might be listening to some sermon as I could hear that
he was chanting about God. Over time, he became agitated and stood up and
moved around his table jerkily and made louder noises. He fit the image of a
religious zealot in my mind and seemed capable of violence anytime. The other
customers around him were visibly disturbed but no one did anything. They kept
staring at the show until a calm voice addressed directly the man: "Can I help you?"
It was a short girl from behind the counter, a little chubby, and with her black
hair tied in a simple ponytail. She stood right in front of the guy and looked
homely but firm. That simple question seemed to calm the guy down and remind him
that he was in a civil setup and should behave. He collected his stuff and left
soon after. I remembered admiring the courage of that girl.
I got in line after turning back from the big sign that said "Drive Through Only"
at the door. "I'd like a tall coffee please." I ordered when it was my turn.
"Milk and sugar?" "Yes. A lot. Please." I knew that was vague and the next
question "How much?" stumped me. I had never bought at a Starbucks
drive-through before. In Tim Horton's, we had double-double for two measures
of cream and sugar, but here I was struggling for the right description of what I
wanted. "We have sugar in bags." She suggested helpfully. "Oh. Right. Two bags
of sugar and two containers of cream please." I did not know a better way to
describe the amount of cream, she didn't persist, and I was let off the hook.
As I moved under the window and wipped out the credit card, however, the girl
told me that the previous customer had paid for my drink. I was for an instant
speechless. I read about this kindness among strangers before but had never sat
at either end of the deal. I vaguely remembered that it was a middle-aged guy in
a red sedan with his wife. I couldn't even thank them. "What is the next guy
having?" I came back to myself as she brought my cup. "Another tall drink." "OK.
I'll pass it on. I'll pay for his drink."
For about 10 mins driving back, I felt happy, thinking about the 3+ loop chain
of kindness we created.
