Being That Guy

The moral debates that arise while waiting for coffee

I hate being exposed as a hypocrite.

My latest self-owning occurred this morning, after I visited the local Starbucks for a Grande Americano. Coffee drinkers will recognize that almost beatific rapture with which we anticipate our first cup of morning joe; I was in such a state this morning. Marlo, my Saint Bernard—who has become something of a Starbucks celebrity—was resting at my feet, having just consumed his pup cup (a Pixie cup filled with whipped cream, for those unfamiliar with the concept). Minutes earlier, we’d made our usual entrance, with Marlo being doted on by the baristas, making the rounds to greet some regulars, and eventually settling down with me to wait for my coffee.

This routine gives me a ridiculous amount of satisfaction—a feeling that small-town community still exists, even as the world grows more atomized and cynical. Maybe it’s a sign of my age that I enjoy this routine so much. Or maybe, like so many Americans, I’m just starving for some good vibes.

I had just finished giving Marlo his pup cup when an older, bearded guy hurried in the front door and made his way toward the mobile pick-up counter. As he passed, the man made a point of stepping awkwardly around Marlo, whose bushy tail extended slightly out from beneath my table. Then, as if compelled by a rage he could not quell, the man turned to me and sputtered, “You know it’s illegal for dogs to be in here.”

Now, Marlo and I have been frequenting this particular Starbucks for several years. Because I’m such a rule-follower, I asked if it was okay to bring the big boy inside for his first visit. Katy, the wonderful Starbucks manager, answered, “Of course! We love dogs!”

Having this long history with Starbucks, I smiled at the man. “Is it?” I breezily replied. “That’s good to know.”

Apparently unsatisfied with my response, the fellow thrust a finger down at my dog and added, “Especially when they’re blocking the way.” Then he turned with a huff and went to claim his drink.

“Well, good morning to you,” I chirped, thinking this dude woke up on the lumpy side of his Stearns and Foster.

A moment later, I left the Starbucks feeling both wronged and relieved not to be that guy. As I made my way down Broadway, some kind of traffic altercation unfolded nearby, with one driver honking furiously at another. How angry we’ve all become, I mused. How quick to say something nasty or honk the horn.

That was our problem, I decided with conviction, but little originality: We’ve forgotten how to be civil.

You might recognize the sensation I felt in the moment—one of pleasing moral rectitude, as if my view of humanity were from atop a great mountain. Such clarity, such relief not to be a dickhead.

It wasn’t a minute later, however, that some better angel inside my prefrontal cortex pointed out that I’d honked at another driver a week earlier—and just as angrily. I was hungry at the time, cranky, in a hurry. The other driver wasn’t paying attention. There were mitigating circumstances. A few days before that, I got pretty snippy with a guy from Spectrum. Damnit!

Amend that earlier thought, I decided. It’s obvious we lack civility—anyone with a pulse and an American passport would agree. More dangerous than incivility, however—more insidious and corrosive—is that cozy moral certainty I’ve come to feel, all while turning a blind eye to my own peccadillos (or worse). I can easily identify the unhealthy influences: social media echo chambers or news channels that forget to present dissenting views, or whatever. It’s still a really bad look. Which is a drag, too, because moral superiority tastes so good with a Grande Americano.

As I crossed Broadway and headed down Caroline Street, I reflected on how crappy it feels to be called out by my own interior angel. I mean, who wants to be judged like that? By the time I reached East Avenue, however, I concluded something entirely different: It’s when that nattering angel voice grows silent that I’ll really be screwed.

For what it’s worth, though, I still think the guy at Starbucks was a dickhead.