Sunday mornings are usually a day of ease and relaxation; however, there are times when even the sacred Sundays have the blasphemous disruptions against peace and tranquility.
This is not about religion, but about one of the weekend days set aside to get away from the everyday hustle of the work week when most everyone likes to kick back and unwind. It is an unwritten law of sorts here in New England. It's a day to enjoy with the family, friends, or to do just as you please, within reason of course. Truth is though, things never stay constant and are always in a state of perpetual change and Sundays seem to be the next victim.

For me it was a day to enjoy a bit of reading with a good cup of coffee to start off the morning. Small, out of the way coffee shops are a haven for my afternoon late 'crack of dawn' starts. After all, who wants to get up at dawn on Sunday? So, I just move sun-up to around eleven, and some days twelve is good enough. I like to just sit back and take in the prose of a good book. This routine has worked well for the past two years without a hitch. I get to relax, drink gourmet coffee and read a few chapters of a good novel. Everything always went smooth and easy; that is until this last Sunday, when that girl came into Cambrae’s on Willow St.

There I was minding my own business reading Updike’s novel “Terrorist” and enjoying my coffee. About half way into the third chapter of the book is when it all started. She came in ordered a latte and started staring at everyone. As soon as she had made enough noise moving the table and chair to make everyone notice, she started to pick her nose. I don’t mean just the annoying kind of nose picking but really the deep digging kind where the finger is buried up to the second joint. I tried to hide her from view by raising my book to block her from sight. It worked for a minute or two but the commotion made by the other customers getting up from their seats, sighing in disgust, and leaving the café disturbed me. I could not help but to look at the upset she had caused.

I was about to leave myself when the owner, an elderly woman, approached her, handed her a check saying, “You don’t think I know your brother owns the coffee shop across the street? I know why you came in here! If you don’t leave now I’ll call the police!’ The girl just looked at the woman and declared, “It’s a free country.”

The elderly woman strutted off behind the counter and picked up the phone. The young woman seeing this got up and left. The whole scene she had caused seemed to me a very base attempt at negatively advertising your competition. And, I had thought the Coors’s beer truck running over Budweiser’s mascot Spuds with the caption “Sorry Spuds, shit happens” was bad. Now I can never go to a coffee shop on Sunday without the image of that girl picking her nose emerging in my mind. My Sundays are ruined.