So I was minding my own business, trying to remain as inconspicuous as everyone else in the coffee shop. Well, except for the guy in neon green jeans with big, black plugs in his ears, he probably wasn’t going for inconspicuous, now that I think of it. Anyway, I was just trying to make my way to my usual table on the balcony overlooking the shop - when disaster struck. In one fell swoop, I managed to trip over the stair with my right foot, slide down two stairs with my left foot, slam yet another stair with my right knee, and send my book-bag crashing into the rickety wooden railing. Everyone, green jeans guy included, looked up and collectively gasped. Great, I thought, just how I planned it. The barista looked at me with concern and asked if I was alright, and of course I told her, thank you, I was fine. Feeling like a moron, I picked my chin up and pretended like my ego had not just fallen harder than my books. To make matters worse, I felt a stumble coming on at the second stair from the top, so at the risk of drawing the eye of every coffee lover in the shop, I stood still for a few seconds and steadied myself. On the balcony, where tiny little tables leave little room for any true privacy but that illusion provided by everyone’s nose residing permanently in some book, I had no choice but to walk the gauntlet to the farthest table. My throbbing knee keeping time with my heartbeat, and my feet seeking for any stray table legs to send me for another splat, I barely managed a polite nod to the concerned gentleman staring me down like I was in danger of having a heart attack on the spot. Having found my spot and nestled my book-bag between the table’s spindly legs, I realized the depths of my shame had yet to plumbed. My latte was nowhere in sight. Pulling out my peanut butter and jelly sandwich from my lunch sack, I decided that today seemed like a good day to go thirsty.