Awkwardness in Starbuck's

I was sitting in Starbuck’s recently, killing time before a meeting in New York City. Why is it that I am always so anally paranoid about being late for meetings that I arrive two hours early and then find myself searching for something to do and trying unsuccessfully to stop sweating like a fat man jumping rope in his attic in mid-July? I don’t know. But I do. I’ve still got about a half hour before I head over to the meeting. That will give me fifteen minutes to get there. Well, actually, I should leave in about twenty minutes, because although it’s less than a five minute walk, who knows what could happen? A riot could start in the streets, forcing me to take a detour of fifteen minutes, which, by the time I get in the door, will make me late. You just can’t be too careful. I’ve been in Starbuck’s eight minutes and I’ve already made a social blunder. I sat down at a table larger than all the rest, thinking, Oh, a group study table for students or writers like myself. Then, I see the bright blue sign on the corner of the table: “Please offer this table to our customers with disabilities.” I then look at my fellow Starbucks-drinker and see that he has a hearing aid. I’ve already asked him if I may sit down and he very politely moved his things to make room for me. But now I”ve seen the sign. Everyone—including him, secretly—is now going to think I’m an asshole for sitting at a table reserved for handicapped persons. Politely, and awkwardly, I rise and tell him, with a smile, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see the sign.” He gives me a puzzled look, I remember the hearing aid and I indicate the sign by pointing. He kind of shrugs, I smile and move to the next table over, where another guy about my age who’s seen the whole thing sits. I ask him if I may sit down and he says, “uh, sure, that chair’s fine, this one’s taken,” indicating the third chair at the table. Great, I think, now I’m intruding on a guy and his friend. A couple minutes later, a girl walks over to the table. Even better, I think. A guy and his girlfriend. Well, probably, anyway. She doesn’t even sit down. He looks at her and says, “ You wanna get outta here?” She nods, he rises, and they leave. Fantastic, I think. Now I”ve driven out two customers by trying to third-wheel it on their date. Maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe they left because they thought I was rude to leave the handicapped patron at the table where I initially sat down. Come to think of it, the handicapped patron probably thinks the same thing. I bet he thinks I’m some prejudiced jerk! But I was only trying to be polite and courteous to the next handicapped patron, who could be denied a suitable seat by my own obtuseness, or at the very least, would have to ask me to move, which could be difficult, depending on the patron’s handicap. What the hell did they want me to do, this guy and this girl? Put yourself in my position, I want to say. Jeez. Why does a hard-of-hearing person need a bigger table, anyway? Does it make him hear better? The big table should be for people who have trouble moving and need more space. Try that next time, Starbucks.