Yesterday, I was walking across the street toward the Starbucks on Summer Street, where I always stop on the way to work and almost always get a London Fogger (Earl Grey tea with steamed milk and vanilla syrup — it’s great!). I don’t know the Starbucks people personally, but there are a few with whom I exchange smiles, how are yous, etc.

Anyways, I was crossing the street and I saw one of the girls who often serves me, and she was standing next to a guy employee whom I didn’t recognize. And they were smiling — steadily and directly at me, unmoving, which is unusual for such a busy Starbucks. I kept walking and they kept smiling at me.

At this point I began to wonder what was wrong, if I had something all over my face or was bleeding from the eyes. I cautiously opened the door. Nobody was in line. I walked up to the front.

“Hi, I’ll have a grande London Fogger,” I said. They didn’t move, just keeping their steady smiles on me.

“Two bags,” I continued. Nothing.

“….whole milk?” I finished.

“Awwwww!” the girl groaned.

“Yes!” cheered the guy. “You owe me ten bucks!”

“You are kidding me,” I said.

They weren’t. The girl knows I’m a London Fogger girl, and even though it’s her who usually serves me, she had gotten the milk wrong! While they both knew it was a London Fogger, she was betting on nonfat. Sheesh.

It made me smile, though. It reminded me of back when Lisa and I worked at Victoria’s Secret and could instantly guess any woman’s bra size, which we once sat down for a while and did in Harvard Square. And as Andy said later, “Doesn’t it feel great to be bet on?”

Speaking of Andy, later on that night, we were waiting for the red line in South Station and he was telling me about how he was shaking up a can of whipped cream last night and doing this weird, goofy, pseudo-Mexican dance with it, and he started doing the dance. He told me how he wished he could have it taped, put it on Youtube and be the new sensation, the new Ma-ya-hee guy.

Then all of a sudden, a group of ragamuffins next to us (I use that word because NOTHING describes them better) starts cheering for Andy’s dance and asks him to do it again. Which, of course, he did. This group looked to be about college-aged or so, and they were loud and jovial and offered us chocolate truffles. (He took some. I declined.) They were perfectly nice, I will say that….but they were kind of weird.

“Those are my new neighbors, I swear to you,” I whispered to Andy. He laughed.

They weren’t — they got off at Central Square in Cambridge. But Central is where you typically find some of the most colorful groups in Boston.

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