I was studying at Starbucks next to a few other girls, all of us with our headphones dutifully plugged in, to give off that extremely studious, please don't try soliciting anything from me, vibe. Then, I heard loud gasps all around me, and so I looked up to see a boy, tastefully but casually dressed in a dress shirt tucked into some trouser pants, holding out a bouquet of flowers for the girl sitting next to me.
[Here's where I confess that I don't actually listen to any music when I'm studying, but I wear my headphones so that when the homeless person comes in to ask for money, I can just shrug them off without having to actually listen to their sob story. Yes, I realize this makes me heartless, but hey, I have rent to pay and books to read.]
He held out the bouquet of flowers, and he launched into a spiel about how he's loved her ever since she first walked into their English literature class, ten minutes late, and through the wrong door. The other girls were listening and I could see Taylor-Swiftian hearts melting around me. But then I surreptitiously stole a look at the girl the speech was intended for, and all I could see was abject horror. Realizing that others were now watching and listening, she sputtered, "Those flowers aren't meant for me!" He paused in the middle of his grandiosity, shocked silent mid-speech, "..uh, but they
are for you." "No no!" she shot back, "all this that you're doing? This is meant for someone else...you -- you will find someone else who this is meant for."
The flowers were now awkwardly between them, as he held them out, and she continued to obstinately refuse to take them. He tried to save face, saying that despite what her response was to his declaration, he had bought the flowers for her. But she just looked down, not willing to make any further eye contact.
By this time, everyone was busy trying not to make eye contact as well, as we all realized how amazingly awkward this all was. Everyone stared at their phones, their books, their coffee sleeves - at anything! - to avoid making eye contact, as the boy looked around at the scene of his complete and utter humiliation.
He turned around, put the flowers down on an unoccupied table next to the door, and then walked out the door.
The busy hum in the Starbucks resumed, and the flowers remained untouched, like a memorial to spurned teenage love.
That poor boy. I still have no clue how that girl was able to continue studying after all that awkwardness. (And this coming from the self-proclaimed queen of awkward!)
