I’ve been whining about the work habits of te people at my new corner cafe where I go to write every morning.

It’s supposed to open at 7 AM. They never open the door before to accommodate us early arrivers like the old cafe did. In fact, several groups from the old place have abandoned this place because you can’t depend on a 7 AM opening.

I’ve started arriving at 7:15 or as late as 7:30 so I idon’thave to wait outside.

My whining stopped earlier this week.

It was fifteen degrees with snow flurries. Very unusual for my area. I didn’t arrive at the corner cafe until 8 AM. Eight! The day feels half over when I’m that late.

I pulled my hat down over my ears, zipped my coat up, grabbed my backpack with my laptop out of the back seat and tiptoed to the front door so as to not slip on the ice.

The door was locked. A paper with a handwritten note said, “We are opening late today due to inclement weather.”

I cussed out loud and headed back to my car when I heard the click of the lock and the manager shouted, “We are open now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please come in. We have the fire going.”

I settled into “my” table next to the fireplace and started my routine of journaling, then writing on my novella.

A little while later I overheard another customer talking with the manager about the ice roads he and some of the other workers endured that morning.

“Yeah, we live in Sherman and none of the roads were cleared so it took us longer than usual.”

I stopped and looked at the corner café team behind the counter. Sherman, Texas is sixty-five miles one way from here.

This team of people who keep the coffee hot, bake the croissant I nibble on while writing and clean the restrooms spend at least an hour driving here and another hour driving home, five or six times a week for a job that pays little and probably offers no benefits to most.

Whining stops.

I am now grateful to them.