This, I’m realizing, is life in a small town.
I see “LiL’ Red Roaster” painted on a shop window and realize it must be Arnie, who used to sell his micro-roasted coffee at the farmer’s market every Saturday morning. He’s not open yet, but he says he’ll roast me some coffee anyway, and the next night he emails to say it’s ready. I walk uptown with the dog to pick it up, and as we stand outside his future store talking about the hassles of licensure and his landlord’s plumbing not being up to code, a car pulls up and beeps: My mother-in-law and two of her friends are out on the town. “It’s the Chocolate Affair!” they giggle. “You’ve got to go to Mill Street Treasures, they have chocolatinis!”
Turns out all the merchants in town (OK, four) are staying open late and serving chocolate. Mill Street Treasures’ owner invites us in despite her antiques, and she gives Buddy a gourmet iced dog treat because he spent three years in a cage (she remembers his entire biography and recites it for the other patrons). Meanwhile, I’m sidling over to the chocolatinis, and everybody’s sniffing the amazing fresh-roasted Sumatra and Arnie’s Hazelnut and a new highlander grogg flavoring he said I can brew into plain coffee. “Is he open yet?” they ask eagerly, and I explain his dilemma, and by the time I leave, we’ve come up with a marketing plan and three alternative locations for Arnie if this one doesn’t work…
I return from a 10-minute dog walk an hour later, slightly looped, but with a tremendous feeling of accomplishment.
When people warned me that in a small town, “Everybody knows your business,” they forgot to add, “and cares.”
