How did I not know that there is no medium size at Philz? I have been patronizing this local coffee chain enough times that I really should have noticed at least the available sizes of coffee, since that is really only ever what I get there anyway (although presently I’m working my way through one of their bacon and egg burritos). But I was rebuffed this morning by a barista who to me seems new since I have not seen her before during my routine patronage of the Philz most local to my store. She said: “Small or large.”
Her delivery wasn’t rude but it was embarrassing to me in that way you never expect to be upended when you’ve done a thing often enough, and the embarrassment was especially acute since this is part of my normal coffee run. (Full disclosure: a “normal coffee run” for me doesn’t always involve Philz, because even though their coffee is delicious and consistently hits the spot, it’s always expensive for my budget. While Philz holds up an exceptionally skyscraping bar, Peet’s coffee is just as good — and one of the perks of working at my book store is we are comped for it.) Anyway, it was a humbling way to start the day. I went into Philz all Mister-Yeah-Can-I-Get-My-Regular-Medium-Coffee and she was all Miss-Um-We-Only-Have-Small-and-Large and then I’m all Mister-Goddammit-How-Do-I-Not-Notice-These-Things-When-They-Are-In-Front-of-Me-All-the-Friggin-Time C. Ramelo, the ‘C’ for Catholic.
Of course, this morning before I even left the house I was reading up on last night’s game. One report in particular was striking (no pun intended) in how it pointed out that you didn’t have your best stuff but instead what got you through it was your grit. Besides the usual joking banter about being aroused by a notion like your grit. I want to believe that grit is also what’s been getting me through these last couple of years. That’s not to say that all I’ve ever been through is bad, and despite the tone toward the cynical and angsty that these never-to-be-sents tend to veer, I don’t want you to ever believe that I am ungrateful for the life that I have and all the wonderful people in it. It’s just that as long as there are good things to make me very happy, there are also bad things that are so bad that I often feel crippled without hope. Anyway, this reminds me: there’s some book out there about grit. I remember seeing it a while ago, in the days before I worked in a book store, when I was just a fanboy of book stores. Maybe I’ll try to see if we have it in stock.
Before I close out another never-to-be-sent, there’s something you should know, Linc: I am going to send you an actual letter. (What’s the opposite of “never-to-be-sent,” anyway? Will-be-sent? How… lame.) In the time that I have become a Giants fan, I have only sent you a handful of handwritten letters so as to avoid being That Guy (or That Girl, as the other half of the case may be). In each of the few times I’ve mailed a letter to the address publicly available on the Giants website, I have felt a sense of trepidation as if that letter was the one going to get me blacklisted despite my laboring to compose it with the most innocuous voice offered by diplomacy, cold calling, sincere fan appreciation as well as the voice of these never-to-be-sents. The letter I am going to send is going to be a fundraising plea, and I’m going to make such a case for your donation to my Team In Training goal that quite frankly there are many things that I can’t confine to a never-to-be-sent. I would not be surprised if you didn’t answer. I’m sure you have an entire staff that filters these things. I should know, because that’s part of my job, too.