My Coffee Shop Fail
Ridges and summits are beautiful spots for snacks or naps, but going into town is sometimes the best break one can take as a ridgerunner (never underestimate the powers of air-conditioning and ice cream). It is also a necessary expedition, as we are out for long periods of time and need to replenish our food supplies.
The two major trail towns in Connecticut are Kent and Salisbury, and they can only be described as quintessentially “New England” (white picket fences, Volvos in the driveway, etc.).
Unfortunately, as a smelly backpacker among the showered and powdered upper-middle class, I feel like I’m trespassing even when I step into the frozen food section of the grocery store.
To combat my poorly-groomed persona, I try to be as friendly as possible. Smiles, waves, door-holding, etc. And it works. I’ve talked to a bunch of people about my job (general reply: “I’m so jealous”), and possibly even convinced a few to become AMC members.
Problem: Coffee Shop Guy is apparently immune to my charm.
The Roast in Salisbury in my favorite resting place (good coffee and shady outdoor seating), and I thought it would be cool to get to know the people who worked there, perhaps develop a “will you be wanting your usual blueberry muffin today?” type relationship. So early on in the summer I introduced myself to the guy behind the counter…
“Hi, I’m Rachel.” [SMILE] “I’m working on a nearby section of the Appalachian Trail this summer and I love coffee, so I’ll be stopping in often… I hope I don’t smell too bad.” (Okay, so a little awkward. But full of good intentions.)
Coffee Shop Guy’s response? “Oh. Hi.” After an awkward pause and an “okay… see you around then” (on my part, not his) I returned defeatedly to my spot outside. We haven’t talked since.
