The stain on my notebook

Meeting for a coffee is something I do on an almost daily basis. I step up to the counter, ask for a simple, plain cup ' joe, and wander off to wait for my appointment. When they ask, "room for cream?" I always answer yes because otherwise, the barista has been instructed to fill that little paper cup up to the very, very, top.
"Exceed customer expectations," I can hear a manager urging his troops, "don't give them anything to complain about!" Young heads nodding in understanding.
On this day, however, my routine is interrupted.
"Grande Pike's Place," I say.
"We just brewed a dark blend," she replies and I notice her green apron is trying its best to hide a very pregnant belly. "I'm sorry," she says, "I just would never recommend Pikes Place. Anything but that."
As she waits for my reply, I feel a line pressing behind me while every bit of pregnant lady advice I've ever heard races through my brain. do her feet hurt? how is her lower back doing? when the baby is due? when will she have to return to work? will she have post-partum depression? should she be drinking coffee? don't ask if she's pregnant! are her parents excited?
Somehow I miss the prompt to leave room for cream and yep, like a good soldier, she proceeds to fill the little cup with dark, dark roasted coffee. Easily 100% of capacity. Freshly brewed, dark roast, 1000 degree coffee, handed to me with a smile.
There's no where to sit and talk because the perimeter has been staked out by the laptoppers peering at me from over their devices, single earbuds dangling. I'm left with the barstool area to the right of the cash wrap.
I take off the lid, debate whether or not to violate the sign above the trash, "DO NOT POUR COFFEE IN TRASH" and try to blow some of the heat away. I debate asking the pregnant barista if she can pour some of the liquid out when my appointment shows up.
There is a handshake, an adjustment of the stool, and a slight tap of the coffee cup which doesn't make much of a spill. No, the real spill comes from my attempt to save the cup. What a mess.
Every day since, when I grab my slightly waterlogged notebook, I get this earworm that I'm passing on to you. Sing it with me:
Oh! Now she's gone
And I'm back on the beat
A stain on my notebook
Says nothing to me
Good stuff.
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