During the last week of school there were a lot of half days and no attendance final exam days and hell, I don’t even know what else. I only know that I felt like I was leaving work every day to pick Jo up at what felt like random times. On one of those early release days (10:45… like, why even bother going?!) she asked if we could stop at Starbucks. “My treat”, she said smiling mischievously. Yeah, her treat alright. I put the Starbucks app on her phone AND put the money on it. Funny, kid. Anyway, we waited in line, debating the composition and vitality of the new frappuccino flavors and the pros and cons and potential longevity of the new mini size. The line was long and we had plenty of time for this banter. We were set to order long before we reached the counter and since I was having a nice discussion with my teenager (a rarity at this age), I wasn’t interested in making small talk with, or attending to anyone else. The guy behind the counter was positively gleeful about waiting on us. He was about 5’2 with lackluster hair and a scruffy beard. I assumed his exuberance, like so many others, was reserved for Joita. People’s discomfort with disability is often exposed in overly enthusiastic attention, so I didn’t actually note his behavior as out of the ordinary. I did catch his rather stridulent, (seemingly)-helium-induced voice. What I hadn’t realized was that his attentiveness and intense focus was entirely directed at me. I was watching Joita as she navigated her crutches while manipulating her phone to pay. When suddenly, this guy’s face loomed uncomfortably close to mine across the narrow counter. “Hey, your glasses are BLUE!”, he said taking a firm grasp of the obvious. “You seem to like blue. Your jacket is blue too.” I had no time to respond before he followed up his rather puerile comments with more of the same. He enthusiastically rapid-fired inane remarks about everything blue I happened to be wearing to wood paneling to the weather as I stood perplexedly staring at him waiting for his point. Payment concluded, the beeping of the register prompted me to move to the next station to pick up our drinks. I smiled dumbly at the Starbucks guy and moved ahead. It wasn’t until we picked up our beverages and turned to leave the store (where I caught a glimpse of him waving vigorously at me over Jo’s shoulder) that I wondered if he was a transguy trying to make a connection. I smiled to myself and waved at him over my shoulder as we left. Sorry bro, I’m still kinda new at this.