A customer came into my cafe.

“What can I get for you?”

“A hug.” She laughed but wasn’t joking.

I couldn’t hug her. She thought she understood, but she didn’t.

I had never met her before and didn’t know why she needed a hug and she didn’t know me and wasn’t comfortable explaining why she needed a hug. These were her reasons for me not wanting to give her a hug. Moron.

If I hugged her, she would tip me. Those were my reasons for me not hugging her. It wasn’t a fear of finding myself to be closer to prostitution than I already was as a barista working for tips, it was my fear of her feeling closer to being a prostitute needer.

Would she leave feeling better, or like she needed to pay for fake friendship?

I couldn’t put her through dealing with this question.

I knew what was better for her.

I knew that she needed to feel no inoffensive physical affection in a time of such sadness that she was literally pleading for inoffensive physical affection.

I’m a moron.