Unexpectedly Becoming "Homeless" at Coffee Lovers - Aborn Rd, San Jose
Today, I had just returned from doing volunteer work. I spent the entire day helping people with free repairs. I was still covered in road dust, my clothes stained, my shoulders aching from working outdoors. As night fell, the mist began to settle. The winter cold crept in with each light breeze, seeping into my shoulders that had not yet had a chance to rest.
Before I even had time to shower or change clothes, my wife said:
"Tonight I want to go out for a drink, talk a bit, and ease the sadness just to get through this cold winter night."
So I called a couple we had recently met and invited them to Coffee Lovers on Aborn Road in San Jose to sit and chat. Aborn Road at night was quieter than usual. The pale yellow streetlights reflected off the cold asphalt, a thin layer of mist hovering in the air, making the atmosphere even more chilling.
When my wife and I arrived, the warmth inside the café was in stark contrast to the cold outside. A young male employee, probably in his early twenties likely a college student working part-time walked over and asked:
"What would you like to drink?"
I replied calmly, "Give us a moment we're waiting for two friends to arrive."
He walked away, but I noticed him glancing back at us. Outside, the night mist grew thicker, and the café windows began to fog up.
At the time, I was dressed rather poorly black pants covered in white paint stains and road dust, a winter knit hat pulled over my head. My wife was also bundled up in a thick sweater, wearing sandals and a knit hat--clothes chosen purely to endure the cold, not exactly the appearance of typical café customers.
Perhaps because of how we looked, the staff began to wonder: were these two actual customers, or... homeless people pretending to be customers just to escape the cold?
Just as I suspected. A few minutes later, another female employee came over and asked again:
"What would you like to order?"
I answered the same way: "We're waiting for our friends."
Less than six minutes later, the original employee returned and asked the exact same question for the third time. The café was warm, but a different kind of cold began creeping in from outside, into my chest.
At that moment, the café had only two other customers, along with my wife and me. There was no possible confusion about us simply waiting for someone.
I turned to my wife and whispered, half-joking and half-sad:
"They definitely think we're homeless."
I pulled out my phone and texted our friend, half serious, half joking:
"Hurry up. The café thinks we're homeless. They might kick us out soon. It's freezing!"
My friend laughed, thinking I was joking.
Fortunately, while the cold mist still blanketed the street outside, our friends arrived. They immediately went to the counter and ordered four avocado smoothies clearly confirming that my wife and I were, in fact, real customers.
We chatted warmly, laughter filling the space and warming the cold evening. But when my wife and I stood up to leave, a female employee hurried after us perhaps still thinking that the two "Vietnamese homeless people" hadn't paid and were about to run back into the cold night.
Only when our friend turned around did she suddenly remember: oh they had already paid.
And that was that.
Stepping outside, the mist was even thicker, the cold rushing in instantly. Aborn Road lay silent under the yellow streetlights. I pulled my collar up and walked on, laughing softly to myself.
For the first time in my life, simply because we were dressed poorly after a day of volunteering on a cold, misty winter night my wife and I unexpectedly became "homeless" right in the middle of a coffee shop in San Jose.
A memory that is both sad, reflective of human judgment, and deeply thought-provoking especially on a cold night so close to Christmas. read more