With my morning cup of tea...

I head to the bus stop every morning cup of tea in hand. No, no, I'm not talking about a little tea cup... I'm talking about 16 fl oz of steaming hot tea, kept safe and at temperature in one of my fancy schmancy beautiful Starbucks insulated tumblers.

Well guess what? I am one of three people in all of Riga that have such a cup, and so that makes me weird.

Every morning I get stare after stare... people look at me twice, three times... "Is she carrying a cup? What does she have in there?" they wonder. Futher more, why would you EVER carry a cup with you while you're walking?

On the bus it only gets worse. I'm usually chilling out to some chants on my iRiver as well... so I'm oblivious to what is going on around me...I've got my warm tea, and my music... it's almost therapeutic. But then I feel it... the stare.

I look to my left... stinky old man is looking from my face to my ear to my cup, Face, ear, cup. He can't figure me out. Then I feel it again. I look to my right. Mismatched, over-coloured, skirt too short, boots to pointy girl is glaring, eyes holding the stare as if in combat with the cup.

Then, here comes the killer... the conductor apporaches. She wants my money, but apparently she's been up since 4, and also wants someone to talk to. So, I grudgingly take one ear piece out.

She asks me, "What is that?"

"A cup, my tea," I reply.

"Tea? I thought that was a vase! How do you get tea in there? Does it stay warm?"

"Yes, the top comes off. But when you put it back on, it stays warm for a couple hours at least."

"Well, if you've got your tea, where are your buscuits?"

"In my bag," I lie... because while I already ate my breakfast pb&j sandwich on my way to the bus stop, I do have my lunch packed and in my bag.

The conductor laughs... thinking me too funny, that clearly I am packing my whole kitchen on my person every morning. I smile, and hope this exchange has come to an end.

Not so lucky. The conductor decides to drive right on to further intricacies. Since she knows all about my habits, she naturally assumes that I want to know all about hers. So I get the full scoop on how the life of the conductor is "not as glamorous as it might seem." And when she gets up, and when she gets to eat, and how to keep all that food from just making her "thicken up"... and then somehow that just moves right on to how difficult her job is, and how they hold the conductors and the drivers of the busses accountable for everything. I hear stories of spilled drinks and nicked paint... none of which is anyone's fault, but it comes out of their pay. Finally,

"Basteja Bulvaris. Nakama pietura, Kipsala." Thank god... we've arrived at the next stop. More passengers climb on, and the conductor is swept away with making sure that every person that climbs on pays their 20 santims.

I make a quick turn, move towards the door. I have to get off at the next stop, and the closer I am to the door, the better. I shove the ear piece back in my ear... relieved to hear an "Om". I look down and realize that I am still clutching my own 20 santims. Somehow, I never managed to pay the lady while we were talking. As she walks by, I reach out my hand. She looks at me, smiles, pushes my hand back. I guess I paid with my attention this morning...

All because of the cup.

Will I stop carrying my tea in a cup every morning? No. I won't stop. However, I might just try to ignore the feel of the stare, so as not to make eye-contact. Although, I'm sure there will be some other morning when unsuspecting, half asleep, I might follow the pull of eyes... and land myself in another conversation, about the cup.