Yesterday I met a woman named Ann.
I had stopped at Starbucks in the morning to get my coffee fix and a jumpstart on work before breaking for my podiatrist appointment. After picking up my misto from the bar (which I finished off deliciously with a bit of mocha powder), I sat down at a small table next to Ann.
If I had to guess, Ann is probably in her early forties. Her short brown hair was sort of frazzled, she was without makeup, wearing sweats and a light pink sweatshirt circa 1992. I distinctly recognized her Weight Watchers name tag, which she must have forgotten to take off from an early meeting. She was sitting across from a friend, who I never got the name of. The friend, who was much slimmer than her coffee sipping compadre, was clearly another WW. Ann seemed frustrated.
“I just can’t get over this damn plateau.” I heard her say, as she sat there drinking a venti iced coffee. “Nothing effing works.”
Ooh, hostility. Man have I been there. I was intrigued. Ann’s friend went into the standard comforting shpeel that these things take time and that she’s doing so well and she can’t help it that the kids love to snack on potato chips and that they’re tempting … yadda yadda yadda.
Welp. Ann wasn’t having it. She fired back. “That’s easy for you to say. People look at you and they wonder why the hell you would ever want to lose weight. People look at me and think what the hell is wrong with this woman.”
Ouch. Her friend looked speechless. Call me intrusive. Call me Ms. Don’t Know How To Mind My Own Business. I took it upon myself to step in. Whoops.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I know this is kind of annoying, but I just wanted to tell you that it looks like you forgot to take your name tag off.”
Just so you know, I never do this. Sure, I’ll talk to anyone who wants to talk to me. But butting in? Totally outside of my comfort zone. To be honest, I dont know what came over me. It just, well … happened.
Anyway, back to Ann. She looked legitimately mortified. Also been there. She blurted something out along the lines of “Oh my GOD. I always forget to take this damned thing off.”
I told her I used to do the same thing, to which she asked me if I used to go over there, pointing at the shopping center next door.
At that point, I was in. After some small talk, I found myself spilling my story about how it’s been four years since the night I decided to change everything, and how it was never easy. I told Ann that I was like her, and wanted to quit about a bazillion times. I found myself sharing so many random details about my personal journey — and every single second of it Ann looked captivated, interested. At one point, she even asked me to show her an old picture of myself — which I avoided.
Before I knew it, a half hour had gone by, and I had an appointment to get to. Ann’s friend had to go relieve a babysitter and the two women got up and walked out of Starbucks with me. We said our goodbyes, I wished them both good luck, and went digging through my bag for my keys. I didn’t even find them before I heard Ann calling my name.
“Emily?” I turned.
“Thank you for sharing that with us.” I smiled. Ann smiled back. Then off she went in her silver Lexus.
… And that was the morning I met Ann.
