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.