The Coffee Shop Chronicles: When Social Anxiety Comes with Extra Foam

I’d rehearsed my order while parking. Practiced again on the walk to the door. One more time in line. Just a venti iced oat milk vanilla latte with an extra shot. Totally normal. Nothing to be anxious about. Just a simple string of words I needed to say to another human being without glitching.

The barista smiled as I stepped up. Eye contact. Immediate internal malfunction.

Do I smile back? How much is too much? Is there an official guideline for smile-to-silence ratio in a coffee-related exchange?

My face wasn’t cooperating. Somewhere between "pleasant customer" and "possible cult leader."

Somehow, I said the words. No stumbles. No accidental switch to another language. The barista tapped everything in with the ease of someone who doesn't second-guess basic life tasks.

Then came the final boss: the exit line.

She handed me my drink with a friendly, “Enjoy your coffee!”

And I—composed, capable, completely functioning—said, “You too!”

The moment it left my mouth, I felt it. That quiet internal collapse. The kind that starts in your ribcage and works its way outward.

“You too,” as if she was also about to take a break, sit down, and enjoy the coffee she had just made me.

The walk to the door felt like wading through glue. In my head, the entire café was already discussing it. Reenactments would be staged. Names would be remembered.

Another addition to the mental highlight reel of social blunders.

And then I saw her.

My neighbor. The one who always waves. The one whose name I absolutely should know by now.

She smiled, already preparing for what was definitely going to be a very neighborly interaction.

I froze. My brain, still reeling from the latte incident, went into power-save mode.

She said, “How are you?” with the kind of warmth only people with good boundaries and tidy homes can manage.

I responded with… something. Maybe words. Probably syllables. It may have included a weather reference from last week. Hard to say.

She kept talking. Something about her grandkids? Her tulips? I nodded like I was following along, but really I was just trying to time my facial expressions so I didn’t look unhinged.

She’s the type who remembers birthdays and brings banana bread to block parties. Meanwhile, I’m one more glitch away from pretending I forgot how to speak English.

I hit her with three “haha yeahs” in under two minutes. A personal record I hope never to beat.

Eventually, she waved goodbye, probably thinking I seemed a bit off today. Probably not realizing I was one polite question away from relocating to a cave.

It’s fine. I’m fine. This is just how my brain works sometimes.

Social settings: 1

Me: Also 1, because at least I left with my coffee.

And that, in my world, counts as a win.