I nervously shuffled forward as the person in front of me moved away, and stumbled over rehearsed words as I tried to get them out. The old woman frowned, not angry, but not understanding as I shrunk into my hoodie further. In desperation, I pointed toward the placard beside the register.

My hands stuffed in my pockets immediately, sweaty palms as she glanced to me briefly before turning away. I'd messed it up again, and I knew it. Spare me the embarrassment; the agony of some premature fate that ended it right now would weigh easier upon my soul than another misstep.

She turned back, smiling, and offered me my order. I hastily unwadded the rumpled, sweaty bill clutched in my fist and offered it to her, and she declined it as her smile grew broader. I checked my vicinity for reassurance, found none, and stepped out of the way with my drink. Small kindness.