Morning light filtered through the café windows in fractured panes, catching the steam from the espresso machine and bending it into ribbons of gold. Shadows from the hanging plants swayed across tabletops, brushing over half-finished mugs and open newspapers like fleeting signatures. The whole room seemed to vibrate with the collision of sunlight and chatter, every laugh and clink of china stitched into the brightness as if the day itself were brewing.
The Coffee Queer Café was alive in the way only a busy Monday morning could manage. Cups clinked against saucers, steam hissed from the espresso machine, and the chatter of conversations rose and fell like jazz brass under hazy lights. Betty leaned on the counter with her usual charm, scanning the room as though it were a novel written fresh each day. She caught sight of Greta and Marjorie settling into their usual corner table, a spot near the front window where light spilled across their cups and made the steam curl like secret handwriting in the air.
Greta adjusted her scarf with flair, her eyes sharp as a hawk’s. Marjorie, composed as ever, placed her hand gently on Greta’s wrist to calm her before she even started. The younger crew was already at work. Mack was methodically polishing the espresso wand while Jasmine painted invisible brushstrokes in the air, her mind never far from canvas even while she served tables. Betty knew today’s conversation would carry a certain heft. She could feel it in the way Greta’s laughter cut through the café din, bold and a touch barbed, ready to spill into something real.
Betty approached with a pot of fresh pour-over, setting it on the table. “You two look like you’ve brought the fire with you this morning.”
Greta smirked. “Oh honey, the fire’s been burning for years. Nobody’s bothered to notice.”
Marjorie tilted her head, her voice even but layered with gravity. “That’s exactly the point we’ve been chewing on, Betty. Once you hit a certain age, you don’t just become less interesting. You vanish. Society misplaces you like an overdue library book.”
Jasmine, overhearing as she passed with a tray, paused. “Vanish? You’re right here. Everyone knows you two. You’re the life of this place.”
Greta tapped the table, her nail making a crisp sound. “In here, darling, we’re seen. Out there?” She gestured toward the street, where passersby bustled past the windows. “Out there we’re scene-ry. I might as well be one of those potted plants nobody waters anymore.”
Betty settled into the booth beside them, her apron smoothed flat. “Tell them what you told me last week, Greta. About the grocery store.”
Greta’s eyes narrowed, though her grin didn’t falter. “Picture it. I’m at the checkout, waiting my turn like a civilized person. I open my mouth to ask a simple question about a coupon. Next thing I know, some fellow barges right past, leans over me, and asks the cashier about his rewards card. As if I’m a ghost. I could’ve been rattling chains and wailing ‘boo’ for all the notice I got.”
Jasmine frowned. “That’s just rude.”
Greta snapped her fingers. “No, sweetheart. That’s not just rude. That’s what happens when the world decides your gray hair equals background noise.”
Marjorie sipped her coffee, then placed the cup down with a small sigh. Her tone carried the clarity of a lecture hall. “There are studies about this, you know. Visibility is currency. The young hold it in abundance. The old watch it evaporate. Even walking with my beautiful thirty year old daughter, I might as well be her coat rack. Strangers beam at her, talk to her, hold doors for her, buy her drinks. I’m right there next to her, smiling, and I don’t even earn a nod.”
Mack, polishing glasses at the counter, spoke without looking up. “That can’t be on purpose though, right? People just get distracted. Everyone’s rushing.”
Greta barked out a laugh, sharp enough to cut butter. “Bless your heart, Mack, you think it’s accident. No, it’s habit. A nasty one. Folks look straight through you like glass because they’ve decided age equals irrelevance. Unless you’re the Queen of England, you may as well be furniture.”
Betty chuckled softly, but her eyes softened as she leaned toward Mack. “You’ll understand someday. It sneaks up on you. One day you’re turning heads, and the next you’re wondering when you became invisible at parties.”
Jasmine set her tray down and folded her arms. “I mean, I guess I can’t imagine it. People still check my ID twice because they think I’m younger than I am.”
Marjorie gave her a patient smile. “Enjoy it while it lasts, dear. One day you’ll ask a waiter a question, and he’ll answer your daughter instead. That’s when you’ll know.”
The café’s door chimed, letting in a gust of cool air and Cliff Bellweather’s familiar tenor. “Morning, Brewtonians!” He strode in, coat flaring, voice polished for radio even off the mic. “Four almond milk lattes to go, please. The station crew is in dire need of high-grade caffeine.”
“On it,” Mack replied, moving with quick efficiency.
Cliff leaned against the counter, scanning the room with a grin. “What are we philosophizing about this fine morning? Looks like Greta’s about to launch a campaign.”
“We’re talking about invisibility,” Greta shot back. “Not the comic book kind. The kind where people walk through you like fog because you’ve hit the wrong birthday.”
Cliff raised a brow. “Then allow me to say, Greta, if you’re invisible, you’re doing a poor job of it. I can hear you from down the block.”
The table burst into laughter, Greta’s the loudest. Even she had to admit Cliff’s timing was smooth as a vinyl record. Marjorie tilted her chin thoughtfully. “Still, he proves the point. People only notice when you make enough noise.”
Cliff accepted his drinks from Mack with a wink. “Then keep making it. The world needs more noise like yours.” With that, he swept back out the door, a gust of energy in his wake. The café buzz returned to its rhythm. Betty reached across the table, refilling cups. “So let’s talk about work. You ever notice how job offers dry up after a certain age?”
Greta rolled her eyes so hard Betty thought they might stick. “Dry up? Try fossilize. You think anyone’s offering me a job at sixty-eight? Unless it’s as a greeter at Wal-Mart, and even they want you spry enough to jog after a runaway cart.”
Marjorie chuckled low. “And statistically, they’re hiring fewer older workers now than ever. Employers assume older means slower, never mind the decades of experience. It’s a kind of theft, like stealing the value of a lifetime because it comes wrapped in wrinkles.”
Greta leaned closer, her voice dropping but her wit sharp as surgical steel. “Marjorie and I could run circles around half these twenty-somethings. But no one would look twice at us unless we were handing out free samples.”
Betty glanced toward Jasmine, who shifted uneasily, searching for words. “It just… it doesn’t feel fair. You’re right. I guess I never thought about it because it hasn’t happened to me.”
Greta wagged her finger, mock stern. “And that’s the point, darling. You don’t think about it until you’re standing in line, invisible as a pane of glass. The world has a way of teaching you patience, and bitterness, all in the same breath.”
The room filled with the smell of Henry’s gourmet croissants from the kitchen, buttered layers mingling with the bitter-sweetness of espresso. The bustle of the café played on, but their corner had gathered its own gravity. Marjorie leaned back, her eyes steady, voice like a professor’s summation. “Age invisibility isn’t just rude manners. It’s systemic. It shows up in marketing, in healthcare, in the workplace, on Substack. The older population is swelling, yet society writes us out of its scripts almost entirely.”
Betty nodded slowly. “But here’s the difference. Here, you’re written in. Every day. This café’s got no age limit on mattering. Not a single one!”
Greta raised her cup, eyes glinting. “Damn right. Out there we may be invisible, but in here we’re loud, loved, and caffeinated.” She sipped, then delivered her closing shot with relish. “And if anyone tries to pretend I’m not worth hearing, I’ll just crank up the volume until even the deaf feel it.”
The café erupted with laughter once more, blending into the bustling soundscape. Outside, life carried on indifferent. Inside, Greta and Marjorie sat tall, their presence undeniable, their voices cutting through the noise with clarity that refused to fade. Two perfect examples of Brewtonia at it’s finest.
Greta is so correct about vanishing at a certain age…
And for best reasons my brain can only understand, I thought of the poem by Jenny Joseph called “Warning” the opening lines sprang into my mind …
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
Greta, follow the poem’s advice and you will always be noticed!! 😁
I had no idea I was going to become invisible... all along I thought it was my life light that people saw in me. Now I know that the people who still see me are those with a brighter light themselves.