Welcome to Reception

I'm sitting in a Starbucks crying (or trying not to cry in public) about the woman who died in the Cirque show last night. A man with a scary skin disorder sits down near me.

AMWSSD: There are no outlets in this goddamn Starbucks.
(He looks at me expectantly. I nod. Return to googling "aerialist death")
AMWSSD: I remember when Starbucks had outlets. That was the whole point.
(I look up briefly. Look back to my screen.)
AMWSSD: Will you watch my computer while I ask if they have an extension cord?
(pause)
Me: Um. Sure...
AMWSSD (walking away, muttering): Is a fucking outlet too much to ask?
(I begin googling one of my friends from 7th grade because I remember he is now in the circus. Gay, black dancer man in spandex approaches.)
GBDMIS: Excuse me, do you have a pen?
Me: Um. Sure...
(I rummage in my bag. He chats as I do so.)
GBDMIS: I have this audition and I forgot to write down the address! I am a hot MESS!
Me: Ha, I know the feeling.
GBDMIS: Just yesterday I went to Ripley Grier and waited in line for a big chorus call, only to find out the chorus call I wanted was at PEARL!!
Me: Ah, bummer.
GBDMIS: You're tellin' me. I gotta have somethin' to tell my mother before the fall or she's gonna make me come home.
Me: Yikes.
GBDMIS: Oh don't worry, I would never. That woman. That woman.
Me: Ha. I know what you mean.
(I hand GBDMIS a pen. AMWSSD returns. No extension cord.)
AMWSSD: No fucking extension cords. And my computer is gonna die. This day.
GBDMIS: I FEEL you! It's just one of those. (pause, hands me the pen.) Thanks for the pen.
(GBDMIS exits.)
AMWSSD: You lent him your pen? Jesus. You're just...the receptionist of this Starbucks. Ha.
Me: Ha. I guess so.
AMWSSD: You just have one of those faces.
(AMWSSD  checks the battery on his computer.)
AMWSSD: Fuck it. I'm going to Cosi.
(AMWSSD exits.)

END.