Liz’s place between classes gives me intense anxiety.

It’s 12:55. Spanish just ended, and I am in desperate need of sustenance, craving the chai that had the perfect shot of cinnamon for me to choke, but also down the whole thing in less than half an hour if I tried. 

Diana Center came into view, tall windows and bright red walls calling my name as I walked through the doors. I could hear chatter coming from Liz’s Place, but it had to just be people sitting in, right? I know class just ended, but how many people could all end class at the same time and all want a drink? 

Supposedly, everyone. 

Turning the corner, I was greeted with the back of another woman, quickly apologizing and looking up to see that the chatter was, in fact, from a line that wrapped around once – no, twice – around the velvet black ropes. 

“Is anyone ordering a drink?” Now, call me skittish all you want, but those words sent alarm bells throughout my body. It meant that when the server got to me, I would have to be quick, say what I wanted, and pray I did it right the first time. I couldn’t tell you how many times I froze up and got an iced chai on a cold day because that was the default, and all I had to do was nod so that the attention was no longer on me. 

Was I ready for this pressure right now? Was I prepared? I knew I only had one thing I wanted, but seeing the length of this line and how my drink might not be ready for at least another 15 minutes, which could be the time I use to go back to my dorm- I had to make a decision. Other times, I might have stayed, might have waited, and used it as a ‘learning opportunity’  to help with social anxiety, but… 

I did not have the patience to learn a life lesson. 

The question was repeated, waiting for anyone else to raise their hand. I pretended to check something on my phone, turning around and beginning my slow descent to the exit. Was I upset to not get a drink? Yes. Was it entirely my fault? Also, yes. I could answer questions in a lecture, give a presentation, talk to my classmates about the grueling academic life, no problem. But ordering a coffee at a low-stakes on-campus coffee shop? With people that I see basically every day? Nuh-uh, too difficult, too stressful, out of the question. 

It’s more of a mental battle, a decision to be made – do I want to panic and stumble over my words because I’m not mentally recovered from lecture, or do I want to save my points for a day and time when I am confident in my ordering abilities? I choose the latter. This mindset is dramatic, and I am well aware, but it’s worth saving my dignity when this conversation has occurred more than once: 

The barista points at me. 

“Chai latte, Almond Milk.” 

“Size?” 

“Uh, uhm, Small.” 

“Next.” 

I actually wanted a medium. It’s always a medium iced chai that slips through my fingertips.

Image via Bwarchives.