MRS. BAUM AND CRANKIN' COFFEE

"lady liberty" by Kirk Stansbury.

Mrs. Baum didn’t consider herself a political woman. While she considered her neighbors’ volunteering and canvassing efforts “admirable” in public, she privately found their incessant use of their luxuriously landscaped yard as a political display to be quite irksome and, if anything, “dangerously provocative.” Mrs. Baum was particularly unnerved by her youngest neighbor, the flirty, political 20-something-year-old Lilah Spinx with a peppy, arm-flailing run, who was home for the summer from a swanky northeastern college. While her parents vacationed, Lilah often hosted a group of social justice warriors for a book club. The weekly “book club,” according to Mrs. Baum, was merely a facade to conceal their patchouli-infused debauchery. As Mrs. Baum told her like-minded, sensible neighbors, the youngest Spinx had no business in subjecting all of Blue Heron Lake to whatever substances she and her compatriots consumed. Politics, according to the Baum Doctrine, served to satiate young, rebellious souls who were too lazy for the work required of them under the dreamiest form of economy ever invented by humanity: capitalism. 

That was, until Mrs. Baum got word of Blue Heron Lake’s newest modern atrocity: Crankin’ Coffee. Now, Mrs. Baum was quite the advocate for new businesses inside Blue Heron’s Town Center, but she despised the infiltration of common, neon-light-infested chains into Connecticut suburbia. As she eloquently told the board in her latest petition, she had no intention of dismantling the emerging Blue Heron Town Center, nor did she have any intention of ridding the Lake of its favorite drug: caffeine. However, as she explained with far too many commas and semicolons, Crankin’ Coffee epitomized everything that Blue Heron was not. Blue Heron deserved better, Mrs. Baum argued, ultimately closing with what would forever be her most evil, twisted form of persuasion: “My late husband, who I miss dearly, who was so generous in his support to the Blue Heron Town Center Fund, would be deeply disappointed in your half-baked efforts.” (Mrs. Baum had extensively discussed the word choice of “half-baked” with her walking group who agreed it was equally punny and effective). Yet, Mrs. Baum—even with all her commas and petitions—found her words ineffective and her protest cheap and “frankly embarrassing,” so she decided on an alternative approach: spying on Crankin’ Coffee from the inside, under the guise of a curious and unsuspecting patron. 

Watching little bouncy, smiley Lilah parade her goldendoodle through the neighborhood, Mrs. Baum plotted her newest project. She often took to her front living room windows for inspiration. She found that disgust, an emotion often conjured up by view of her neighbors and their boisterous pursuits, was an incredible motivator. In her handwritten calendar, Mrs. Baum penciled in her plan for the afternoon. She prided herself on the alliterative nature of her project, “Sip and Surveil,” but to her dismay, she knew that she must not share any details of the cleverly named project with her ladies. Although she had been quite vocal about her feelings towards Crankin’ Coffee, she often consumed herself with the idea that her ladies’ walking group merely indulged her wildest whims and convictions because she was the widowed wife of the Mr. Baum. So, as a selfless martyr, she flew solo. She packed a notebook, her phone, and a pencil for the first installment of surveillance, and after a brisk walk, she arrived at Crankin’ Coffee eager to spot any suspicious activity, health violation, or breach of the Blue Heron Lake Code of Conduct. Consumed with the thrill of vigilantism, Mrs. Baum forgot perhaps the simplest part of the operation: what she would order. She stood at the counter, overwhelmed by the seemingly endless menu, and opted for what she often ordered at these kinds of establishments—the only beverage option that couldn’t detriment her health: a courtesy water. 

“That’ll be one dollar, miss,” the peon grudged, turning back to his phone, which was unskillfully hidden behind the counter.

Mrs. Baum stood there without digesting his words. Certainly, he was talking to another patron, perhaps the gentleman near the bathroom, whose belt buckle appeared on the verge of busting. The employee, not so inconspicuously, snapped a selfie on his phone. His eyes shot back up to Mrs. Baum. Her lack of response worried him—she was an older woman, after all, and his two-hour training included no portion on what to do when a customer experiences a health crisis at the counter.

“Hello? It’s a dollar,” he repeated.

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Baum replied, “I only ordered the courtesy water. Thank you.”

“Yep,” he responded, filling up their smallest cup option with ice. “A dollar.”

“But I think you’re mistaken,” Mrs. Baum turned behind her, worried she was causing a commotion during her first Sip and Surveil, “it’s a courtesy water. The key word is ‘courtesy,’ dear.”

“We charge a dollar for water,” the boy spoke, visibly annoyed by this encounter.

He gestured to the touch screen and flipped the “on” switch to his headset. He began taking a drive-thru order. Mrs. Baum, unsure how to proceed, because she was neither sipping or surveilling, huffed and journeyed back home. She replayed their encounter over and over, ruminating on where she went wrong. As she replayed it, she managed to recall new, vivid details. He didn’t say, “We charge a dollar for water.” He must have said, “We charge a dollar for water, old lady,” or some equally stinging insult! She was livid! (But, a part of her was secretly pleased, because this courtesy water debacle meant that she had a legitimate reason to take them down. She envisioned the headline, “Crankin’ Coffee denies thirsty, dizzy old lady water…”) Mrs. Baum now had to devise a new plan, one that the sheer idea of brought a smirk to her face.

She typed up and printed 50 8-by-11-inch flyers–in 70-point Times New Roman–detailing the crisis. “Water is a human right, RIGHT? NOT according to CRANKING COFFEE. Blue Heron Town Center new business HATES its ELDERLY patrons. WANT TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT? Call 555-555-5555.”

Like any self-appointed sacrificial lamb, she waited until dusk, until the trees crept into the street, and the only sound in all of Blue Heron lake was the Rineheads’ outdoors cat moaning in the street. Mrs. Baum walked angrily around the block, folding flyers and tucking them into mailboxes. She found herself more frustrated with her neighbors than usual, as she never noticed until now how many of them had mailboxes situated at the tops of their driveways, rather than street level. After hitting the end of the block and breaking into a minor sweat, she realized that creeping up on her neighbors’ driveways—most of whom probably had some sort of photo/video security system—struck at her dignity. So, Mrs. Baum, in what seemed more respectable, hopped in her Mercedes SUV, and tossed the remaining flyers throughout the remainder of the neighborhood. The experience was simply cathartic and joyful, as she watched the flyers sprinkle the pristine streets; Mrs. Baum had not anticipated any consequences. She merely thought about the gain. And that night, turning to her left side on her red silk pillowcase, she slept deeply and comfortably, knowing that she would make Blue Heron a safer community.

The following afternoon, Mrs. Baum slipped down the driveway to pick up her mail. The air felt crisp, the sky blue, as if the universe was telling her that today she would see the fruits of her selfless labor. She wondered when the commissioners of the Blue Heron Town Center would reach out to her. Somehow, she thought that her daily mail would consist of “thank you” letters from other neighbors, but she realized it was probably too soon. But, from two houses down, she saw a familiar face barrel down the driveway, holding one of the flyers.

“Mrs. Baum! Mrs. Baum!” Lilah Spinx scrawled, reaching for breath on her high intensity run, “I saw your poster!”

“Yes,” Mrs. Baum replied plainly. She hoped she would be congratulated for her service, but she also hoped Lilah Spinx would not be the first Blue Heronite to praise her.

“We’re having a book club meeting this week, Mrs. Baum,” Lilah sighed as she continued jogging in place, “all about how we’ve commodified water. Businesses can’t charge for water, it’s, like, a capitalist nightmare. I didn’t know you were into politics. That’s, like, really, really cool. Do you want to stop by?”