We Shouldn’t Have to Pay for That

I was sitting at my favorite downtown Asheville coffee shop the other day—a newer favorite for those who care, and I caveat “downtown,” because my first and second favorites are outside that realm, but since I work downtown in an office now, I don’t get to frequent them as much as I’d like—doing some writing over my lunch hour. 

Being summer, and thus, tourist season, the shop was packed, so I wasn’t able to snag a table as I’d like, and instead, had to grab a stool at the counter that runs along the front window. I normally don’t sit here because of the street view and my proclivity to get distracted, but beggars and choosers and whatnot. 

This summer’s been very hot—I’ve been particularly dehydrated as of late (and I caveat “particularly” here because anyone who knows me knows regular dehydrated is just my baseline)—so I wasn’t surprised when a group of women (what seemed like a mother and three teenage daughters) stopped directly in front of the window. 

“Dylan is thirsty,” one of the girls said, indicating not a possible daughter, but a small, black dog. 

“Well,” the possible mother said. “Let’s see if this coffee shop has any water.” The possible daughter holding Dylan came inside and got in line at the counter. 

“I’m thirsty, too,” another possible daughter who was still outside said. 

“Then go see if they have water for you,” the possible mother replied. She did, and I kind of stopped paying attention and attempted to work. A minute or so later, the thirsty girl came back outside. 

“They gave Dylan a very small cup of water, but said I’d have to pay for a bottle,” she said, then actually, noticeably made a sad-face frown. I buy water from here from time to time… it’s $1.25 for a regulation-sized bottle, which is actually a steal these days. 

I thought her mother or whoever she was might tell her to just buy a bottle, but instead, she said, “That’s not right. It’s so hot out today.” 

The girl holding Dylan then exited. “They only gave him this small cup,” she said, indicating a regulation-sized disposable plastic cup that me, an expert at all things canine, deemed more than enough for a dog the size of Dylan. 

“This is so unfair,” the thirsty girl said. “I’m so thirsty”—I legitimately steeled myself for one of them to lean in the door and ask me for a swig of my refillable bottle, but thankfully they didn’t. 

“Go back inside,” the maybe mother instructed thirsty, “and ask if you could have more water for Dylan—they really should’ve given him more—and then you could just drink that. They won’t know.” 

She went back inside for a second cup of water for Dylan, and that’s when I clocked that all four of them were wearing seemingly brand-new Biltmore T-shirts. As I waited for the rest of the tale to unfold, I surreptitiously Googled Biltmore T-shirts. The ones they were wearing retail for $34.00-$42.00, depending on the size. And for what it’s worth, Biltmore day passes start at $80.00 a pop. 

The very thirsty girl approached the counter for a second glass of on-the-house tap water, and this time, invested, I swiveled around to watch. 

She pleaded her case—”It’s so, so hot outside right now, and that one cup of water isn’t enough for our poor dog!”—which the barista happily obliged. 

“I don’t have to pay for this, right?” she said, with what I interpreted as indignance. 

“Dogs drink on the house,” the barista said. 

“Good,” she said. “We shouldn’t have to pay for that.” Then, she turned, walked out the door, and brazenly chugged the water herself in the doorway. Maybe she looked defiantly back at the barista, but maybe I imagined that. Maybe the barista smirked, but maybe I projected that too. I know for certain, though, that the thirsty girl didn’t say thank you, nor tip.