Sunday morning, 10:00 am. Sitting in a large leather chair at Starbucks, I skimmed through the pages of the novel I was reading. The chime of a bell caught my attention as I peered over the top of my book. I watched as an elderly woman, about five feet tall walked in the door. She looked as if she had just come from church. A silk black scarf was wrapped around her head, draping down over her shoulder covering her snowy white hair. She looked quite fragile as she hobbled slowly to the counter; cane in one hand, purse in the other. She looked in my direction and gave me a smile.
“Nice day today. It’s nice to see the sun again.”
Her voice was reserved and soft as she spoke.
“Yeah, it’s beautiful outside” I said with a smile.
With a nod of her head and a grin on her face, she turned back to the counter and ordered four cups of coffee.
“Three tall decaf and one regular for Phyllis” the barista announced.
Phyllis looked over at me and waved goodbye. With one slick movement she picked up her tray of coffee with one hand and adjusted her cane with the other and headed for the door. When Phyllis reached the door she realized that she didn’t completely think through this process because she had no available hands left to open the door. Extending her cane out to push the door open, she lost her balance and stood back up to re-adjust herself. A violent slam of a car door immediately turned my attention to a tall woman talking on her cell phone stepping out of her new 2015 pearl white BMW with leather interior. She was wearing stiletto heels under her bedazzled designer jeans and carrying a large Michael Kors handbag. She was wearing so much jewelry that it blinded my eyes when I looked in her direction. Phyllis, still trying to open the door, looked at the Naperville mom for help. However, the lady did nothing but stand near the door, waiting for Phyllis to get out of her way. Unbelievable, I thought. Phyllis, clearly struggling, finally made her way out and walked to her Lincoln town car.
“One Grande low fat, iced, skinny, vanilla late with two Splenda’s.”
“Five dollars and seventy-three cents please” said the barista.
The woman reached inside her handbag and pulled out a platinum Amex credit card and handed it to the cashier. She looked over in my direction and saw that I was watching her.
“Sweetie, don’t you know that it’s not polite to stare?”
“Oh, trust me, I’m aware. But just remember, karma’s a b****.”
  The woman rolled her eyes, grabbed her coffee, and headed out the door. With the first step she took outside, her heel broke on her shoe sending her plunging down to the concrete ground, spilling her coffee all over her very expensive cassimere sweater. With a smirk, I took a sip of my coffee. And in no rush to get up and help her I muttered under my breath:
“Don’t you just love karma?”