Man in the grey suit

A grey man visits a colorful coffee shop

The man in the grey suit was used to going through grey days. He wasn’t sure if it was spelled gr-e-y or gr-a-y, but he didn’t think it mattered much. Of course, he knew that the world around him was not actually grey. He recognized the green of the grass and the blue of the ocean and even the subtleties of color in a seemingly grey sky. But for him, the world was always all grey.

 

Everyday he wore a grey suit, or a grey shirt and grey pants on the weekend, to reflect the feelings of greyness he felt. One should always outwardly portray ones insides, it isn’t well to keep them bottled up for too long. He never spoke about the greyness, never explained to anyone why he chose his grey suits and grey shirts, and few inquired. Just wearing his greyness was enough that he felt he could carry on.

 

On a Thursday morning, the man in the grey suit stopped at a coffee shop on his way to work. It wasn’t a part of his normal routine, a routine he hardly strayed from, but this morning on his eight-minute walk from the subway to work, the man in the grey suit spotted a sign outside a little coffee shop.

 

It read: Splash of color in every coffee

 

The man in the grey suit was intrigued. He’d never had coffee with a splash of color. He took his coffee black and plain, and had never had any interest in adding anything to it. But color, what would it mean to add color to his coffee, he wondered. He imagined a splash of yellow swirling around him, brightening every step he took. He imagined the lightness he would feel as the golden color filled his body. He imagined smiles and hellos, and subtle nods directed toward him as he entered his office, acknowledging that somehow today, he was different. He was golden. A bell tied to an old shoestring hung from the door of the coffee shop; it rang quietly as he entered.  

 

He stepped in line behind an old woman with a cane wearing a vibrant suit in pink. On her head was a large pink hat, a lighter shade than the rest of her outfit. It was so large indeed, that the brim touched the back of her suit jacket. Her cane was a magenta pink with light pink polka dots that matched her hat, and as she spoke, she waved the cane around, directing the attention of the barista towards the menu on the wall, which, the man in the grey suit noticed, was not full of coffee and bakery items, as most menus are, but rather, it displayed a long and extensive list of colors.

 

As the old woman placed her order, the man in the grey suit admired and studied the list. He did not want to take a decision, which seemed, all of a sudden, quite important at the moment, too lightly. He passed on Artichoke, Avocado, and Copper, worried that the colors were bland and brooding, and that the flavors would interfere with the taste of his coffee, which he quite enjoyed. Coral, Crimson, and Lavender were nice, but didn’t speak to him on this particular morning. He’d never heard of Carmine and couldn’t quite remember what Chartreuse looked like, and so he passed on those as well.

 

In the end, he chose Charcoal because he was nervous and it was the closest to grey he could see on the list. With a swirl of grey, the man in the grey suit slipped past the pink-suited lady, who continued to chat with the barista and had fuchsia foam covering her upper lip, and exited the small coffee shop. The little shoestring bell rang as he left, and the man in the grey suit continued on his way to work, feeling perhaps, even a little more grey than usual.