Massachusetts Ave in the heart of downtown Lawrence, KS looks like most other college towns in the Midwest: restaurants, a theater or two, a few homeless folks hanging out on the corner, Independence Day fireworks in the park.  En route from Colorado to Connecticut, my husband and I swung into Starbucks bright and early July 5th to get “cups of happiness” for that day’s drive across the middle. 

Two adults with developmental disabilities followed us through the door and, when it was their turn to order, they each ordered a beverage.  Then the man switched his order.  Then switched his order again.  The young woman staffing the cash register patiently changed the order each time.  When the order was complete at last, the man took a gift card from the display in front of the register and handed it to the young woman for payment.  She said quietly, “Bobby, that doesn’t have money on it.”

“It does!  I know it did yesterday!”  Belligerent.  Loud. Heavy breathing. Upset.

The young woman looked at the now red-faced Bobby.  Then she said, “You’re right, Bobby.”  She took the gift card as though it had plenty of money loaded on it and the barista staff handed him his drink. 

Holding my venti soy misto as I got back in our car, I thought I caught a whiff of grace with a slight note of dignity wafting from my cup. A cup of happiness, indeed.

World-class.  5 Stars.

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