When Comfort Becomes Uncomfortable

As consumers we (or at least I) all aspire toward a certain level of comfort and familiarity with our local establishments. To acquire this, we patron the same places and order the same things – even sometimes when we wouldn't want that same thing from that place. For example, one of my favorites is that I order a toasted bagel butter jelly from my bagel shop. I walk up and they say "bagel" and I say yes and it comes and I am happy. I order nothing else because I don't want to disturb that. If I want something else, I go somewhere else.

BUT where this goes awry is ---- days like today. Today, I stop to get my bagel. I say nothing, but "hi" and it comes. I grab it --- they know I don't want a bag because I always eat it on my walk to the office ----- I am simply handed my bagel, wrapped, with some napkins. Anyway today, I get a few steps down the hall unwrap my bagel and it isn't a plain bagel with butter and jelly. It is a SALT BAGEL with butter and jelly. Who eats that? So the question is --- what do I do? Today, I ate it. Why? Because today (and all this week) I am in a terrible mood. I wouldn’t simply say – "hey, I think this has salt on it." I would say --- "…." Well you know me. . . I am not called the Black Larry David for nothing. . . It would have been a situation, so I let it slide.

Same is true with my coffee guy across the street. He expects me daily --- with my coffee buddy --- we order the same thing. But sometimes, now more often than not, he doesn't make the coffee sweet enough. . . We usually say nothing. Further, some days I don't want coffee . . . Of course, I don't go to him when I don't want coffee. . . I go elsewhere for a snack, or a soda, or a lottery ticket or whatever. But, I can feel his eyes watching me. It makes me feel guilty. I want to walk the long way so avoid the Watching and Judging eyes. This is a lot. This is more than I would deal with in anonymity. This is like me falling asleep in church and the Priest asking me ---- "everything okay?" I love when the priest knows me, but I . . . well, you get the point.