Coffee and Paranoia

It’s not like he was a secret agent or anything. He was never in the military, the CIA, or some secret assassin group. Maybe he just watched too many hitman movies, so he always had to sit with his back to a wall at restaurants. He’d say things like, “I’m not trying to get murdered here,” and, “if you're going to make me sit with my back to the door, then you have to let me know if someones coming up behind me with a knife or gun.” As joking as it was, there was of course some seriousness to it.

There was no real logic to the paranoia. After all, he sold insurance. No one cares about insurance salesmen. Just a regular Joe with a regular boring life.

One day Regular Joe went to a coffee shop. Nothing special about the coffee shop. Nothing special about the day, sort of. Lining one side of the coffee shop were lightly padded benches. On the other side, high chairs and a bar-like table across the whole glass wall. In the middle of the coffee shop were a few metal chairs and tables. Directly across from the lightly padded benches were the only two large comfy chairs with armrests. Their backs faced the door.

He ordered a Vietnamese iced coffee, waited, pondered the comfy chairs, grabbed his coffee, and then sat on the benches to read. After a few moments the other patrons left, and he was the only one. So, despite his paranoia, he decided to give the comfy chairs a try.

The chairs were soft, deep. He scooted all the way back, took off one sandal, and put a leg up. He relaxed and read. After a while, the door jingled and someone came in, ordered a coffee, and left. Then another person. Then another. A couple stayed and sat, and his life wasn’t threatened. After all, out of the corner of his eye, he saw each one enter. He could hear everyone's wear abouts in the room from the moment they entered. There was the added advantage of a reflective vase on the table in front of him, so his eyes could confirm what his ears told him. The idea is that unseen threats are the most dangerous.

Another couple came in, ordered, and then sat across from him on the benches. They set down their belongings -- a purse, keys, and a small brown paper-like box. Their order was called, and they got up quickly to grab their coffee. The couple gathered their keys and purse but forgot the box.

They left just as quickly as they came in. He thought maybe they’d come back for it, but they didn’t. Ten minutes went by, then twenty, then thirty. Its presence disturbed him. Why did they leave it? How could they not remember to come back? What’s in it?

He sat reading trying to ignore it as long as possible. It was difficult enough trying to read while leaving your back vulnerable, analyzing everyone that walked in. Now, there was this small brown box gnawing at his conscience. Why did they have to leave it?

He needed a break, something to reset his mind. He knew he was overthinking things, just stuck in his head. He got up to use the restroom. He washed his hands, splashed some water on his face, and stared at himself in the mirror. He laughed a little to himself about his own paranoia and anxiety.

He went back to his seat, looked twice around the room before sitting down. Picked up his book and began to read again. Just over the top of the book, he could see the little brown box. That’s it. He stood up. Picked up the box and looked around. The baristas were in the back on break or something. Everyone was gone actually. The last couple inside must have left while he was in the restroom. He went to the counter but no one came out.

He stared at the box, holding it in both hands he noticed it was slightly open. He walked back to his chair and opened the box. A puff of gas popped out, and he collapsed instantly into the chair dying in seconds. The small brown box fell to the floor underneath the table, and his book sat next to him on the armrest making it look as if he had just fallen asleep. The door jingled with a customer and the barista came out to help him. Then another person. Then another.