Anytime

Everyday without fail he comes into my store from September until June. Unless there's a road game or he's unexpectedly injured. He's tall, dark and handsome but without the tall. I suppose that you could say he's a tall seeing as it's the shortest size here at the coffee shop. You see I work at that giant coffee giant who's name I'll leave out, you know just in case this becomes a movie of the week or something. The one with the green aprons and hipster attitudes, where people bring their laptops and look like they're writing the great American novel. Everyone who works here has failed at something, my store manager Joe was a failed cellist, broke his middle finger in two places on his left hand, was never the same again. Janey the part timer with the plucky attitude was an artist, that is until she found out that she couldn't really make an income from it. But him, Mr. Tall Dark, and Handsome, Mr. NHL, he was different from all of us. A child prodigy in the motherland, Canada and now the biggest star here in Pittsburgh, or perhaps the league. He had succeeded where we had not, and I'm reminded of that everyday from September until June.

"Large coffee, black two sugars" he says with a smile every morning. He knows that it should be a venti, but never orders it that way. He also knows that he always puts the sugar in his coffee himself every time. "And maybe a toasted sesame bagle this morning to change it up" he adds with a smile. He really wasn't changing it up. Being the fan that I am I know that he's a creature of habit, I also know that he always gets a bagle the day after every hattrick. I smile and pretend to key in his order, truth is that I've already done it the moment that he walks in.

"Nice hattrick Captain," I say with a smile looking at him through my black plastic rimmed glasses.

"It was just preseason" he says sheepishly, almost like he was embarrassed. His teammates often come in as well, but much much later than he does. I never call him Sid, Sidney or Mr. Crosby unlike Joe who seems to feel the need. Captain is what I know him as. I hand over his quickly just as I always do. I see his eyes wander down to my right wrist as he sees a small maple leaf, one that I had just recently had inked. "Nice ink" he said with a half smile.

"Thanks" I added as his usual $5 tip went into the jar. I don't know what came over me, perhaps because it was a slow morning, perhaps because I had finally decided to get some guts after serving him for the past two years. "Sophia" I said exending my hand to him. He probably already knew that seeing as my name was on almost every single one of his receipts.

"Well it's nice to finally meet you Sophia" he said with a smile. Just as I thought that he was going to ask me more about my tattoo he smiled politely, turned and walked away. Part of me wanted to engage him further in conversation. Its like we've been playing this two year courtship game of smiles and pleasantries, yet he had just officially learned my name.

How did I get here? What's my story of failure? I came to Pittsburgh on a scholarship at the University to become a doctor. Midway through my first year of med school I met someone, fell in love and decided that I wanted to be married. What a mistake that was. The marriage lasted just enough to get my permanent green card, about two years and then went kaput. He didn't feel anything anymore. Ironically he was going to school for anesthesiology...insert canned laughter here. So I divorced and rather than going back to school decided to take up the great career that is being a barista. Well, no not really. The truth is that wasn't quite the right look to be hired as a shot girl at the local bar and had very little in regards to job history. Somehow I was qualified to be assistant manager.

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