The wait for Dunkin wrapped around the entire food court at 7:15. But I had time. At the front I asked for a medium iced coffee with cream, in a hot cup. I always ask for iced coffee in a hot cup because paper decomposes and plastic doesn't. Some places (the adorable cafe in Henne's neighborhood where I ate a black and white cookie and millionaire shortbread) don't mind at all. Other people insist what I'm asking is insane. I would classify the cashier at the JFK Dunkin as the latter. I was very aware of the family grumbling behind me, but I couldn't help myself when she held up a plastic cup and said, "No" over and over, I had to say, "Why?" over and over. Finally she pulled someone over to ask, and he was like, "Yeah who cares?" The whole thing was so overdramatic they forgot to charge me, and when I protested they just shuffled me away holding my paper bagel bag and victory cup.
At my gate I sat on a high top while the rest of the Group D mongrels swarmed the door. A couple about my age walked by, and I felt my senses heighten when they stopped a few feet from me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw them staring at me. I slyly checked my underwear wasn't sticking out, but beyond that couldn't guess what might be so interesting. I heard the girl mutter, "I'm gonna be my mom" before trotting over. "Excuse me!" she twinkled, "But where is the Dunkin Donuts?" I pointed her back and left. She smiled and went on her way.
Everybody here wanted somethin' more / searchin' for a sound we hadn't heard before.
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