Raw like our Coffee

I'll spill the tea, the coffee, the rakija and the vodka.

The ground blurred beneath my feet as I rushed through the streets to meet Tanja. When I’m nervous, I walk fast in a straight line. My eyes are locked on a target in the distance, willing people to move out of my way. As I turned around the corner, I could feel her anger a kilometre away. She was so far away that I could only see her little silhouette, pumped up, nervously waiting. She wasn’t nervous for me being late, but I was definitely nervous for her. I jaywalked diagonally across the traffic lines and our eyes locked. She rolled her eyes - not in a bitchy way, but as a signal of relief. With her whole being, she was desperate to unload her emotional baggage over a cup of coffee.

“Tanja!” - with a loud worried tone spiced with judgment, I exclaimed her name.

“Hanaaaa” she whined back, like a kid calling for their mother.

Of course, she couldn’t start the narrative until we took our coats off, sat, ordered a coffee, lit a cigarette and finally, when the coffee landed on our table, we could start our discussion, our debate, counseling and trial. Being a baba (a term used for older women, but in this context specifically, older women who love to gossip and live for shitting into your life), I will spill the tea, the coffee, the rakija and the vodka. I know it’s not the kindest thing to do. But let’s not pretend you don’t want to hear it.

After an eight year long relationship, Tanja’s self respect was shattered into pieces. It was a long, hard breakup with an incredibly hard tempered manchild - the kind that turned from liberal to traditional in his late twenties, the kind that is becoming increasingly common on the Balkans. Tanja, on the other hand, is a butterfly - feminine, nurturing, plans her meals, runs errands, loves people, wants loads of kids. But to him, Tanja was “never enough”, but at the same time, “too much” - too pissed off, too often. She couldn’t accept that he spent 24/7 at home, building a business empire of shit WordPress websites for a garbage amount of money. So instead of him living up to his own traditional expectations, being a man and owning his shit, he unloaded his frustration all over poor Tanja’s back. For a year, she wavered, tried to leave, came back, tried again, fucked him twice, and finally blocked his number.

Tanja was at a shitty place in her life back then. Nothing could cheer her up. In the same sentence she would desperately cry about him being the one for her and her being a stupid piece of shit. It was tough for all of us, but we helped her to get back on her feet. And after a while, she started to talk about her colleague.

A married a man, 17 years older than her, with wife and kids. You already know where this is going.

From the start, I knew that the way she lingered on the details of their conversations—how she confided in a random old man from work, is a huge red flag. Months went by and she finally confessed, over a cup of coffee at her place, that they are in love. I scratched the back of my head with a cigarette between my fingers. We really do have to go over it all over again.

I was shaking my small bag of sugar and stirring the coffee with my left hand.

“And?”

“I don’t know what’s my fucking problem. I snapped at him at work.”

“Was anybody else there??? Did anyone witness it??”

“No.”

“Thank God. Dude you’re going to fuck up your career AND your dignity AND your life overall. You don’t want other people to think you are a young slut who sucks her boss's dick after work??? Tanja you are so much more than that, PLEASE…. I’m begging you, please do something. Give up. Find another job. You’re not going to get over it while you two spend eight hours a day together.”

“I already know that,” she muttered, staring into her cup. “But I saw him texting this other coworker, and I lost it…” She trailed off. “And I love my job.”

Her job. She loves being screwed over by a manipulative loser for a shit paycheck and working overtime. She loves having an affair with a married man who also happens to be her boss. Ideal job. Dream situation. A position to die for.

Listen, I love Tanja. To my core. She’s brilliant - extremely smart, graduated from a very hard college, works hard, but unfortunately fucks harder. Her mind can move mountains, but her heart is like Sisyphus rolling a stone up and down the hill, eternally, la-di-da. Rarely learning from her mistakes. Always catching her heart on fire. The hope she has for hopeless men is fascinatingly absurd. And the hope we have for her is even greater.

The coffee got cold, but our conversation was just heating up. We go on for an hour. Order another round of coffee. I kept analysing her behavior in both relationships, thinking it would bring her to her senses. After a failed attempt, I get pissed off and order a beer. She orders gin tonic. I order a gin tonic, she orders another one. It’s getting dark, we’re getting tipsy, and it’s Tuesday. After hours of analysis, we admit we can’t figure it out on our own. I fired all my argumentative arsenal at Tanya but she dodged accusations like ex-yugoslavian war generals in Hague after the independence war. Never mind…

So naturally, we invited Emina.

All hell broke loose. Emina announces that she’s in love. Tanja is openly jealous. I am trying to be a drunk mediator, but nobody listens because I’m in a happy long-term relationship. My personal belief is that they should have taken advice from my wise ass, but there’s no room for reason in a conversation fueled with alcohol and hormones.

Right about the time when Emina’s alcohol level in the blood leveled up with ours, Tanja got tired of our advice.

“Listen,” she said, finally cutting us off. “I know I’m screwing up. I know I should quit the job, say my goodbyes, and maybe move to another continent. I know. But you two became stiff babas. It’s really not the end of the world, I mean, I’m sick of feeling like I’m constantly doing something wrong. I need space to be a stupid hoe and just deal with it later. This won’t go on forever, I will eventually come to my senses, get mad and leave this mess altogether.”

Emina opened her mouth for a replica, but Tanja raised a hand, silencing her. “I don’t need your judgment right now. I need you to sit here, drink with me, and let me figure this shit out. You can pull me out when I’m drowning, but for now, just let me swim.”

I was stunned. Tanja never stood up for herself like that. It was stupid but she was kind of right. I looked at her with my semi-drunk eyes as my heart filled with pride.

And before you know it, the music stopped. That’s a universal sign that we have to finish our drinks and get our drunk asses home. We tried to plead our case to the waiter, explaining there was so much left to unpack, but he didn’t care. When he crawled back behind the counter, we univocally agreed that he is also an ex-leftist turned traditionalist and it’s ruining our society. We washed down our sins with a glass of cold water and stumbled home.

After a long time, I felt alive. My purpose as a friend was fulfilled, my moral compass was polished. Coffee turned into a beer which turned into gin tonic. Magnificent, long lost practice that didn’t happen since I became all serious and employed. On my way home, I was carried on the wings of justice, remembering how I scattered advice from a moral high ground. I missed these kinds of coffees. Lately, coffee dates have revolved around inflation, real estate, and corporate gossip. This was a breath of fresh air.

I have a strong need to repeat that I’m not enjoying my friend being in a shitty place in life. I really don’t. What I enjoy are real, true, honest human emotions, shared without filter, openly. That’s what I live for. Today it’s her, tomorrow it could be me. And I can guarantee you that these two would be pulling me out of the shitshow.

When life becomes all work and no play, you need an honest coffee date with your friends to remind you not to take life too seriously. That sometimes, not only do you step into a pile of shit, but you carry it around on the soles of your shoes, and then you call your friends and you mop the floor together. Doing things the right way is an unsustainable illusion, it’s a trap that leads you to misery if you take it too seriously.

So, my advice to you is not to take life too seriously, regardless of your age. Keep your normal friends close, but keep your crazy bitches even closer.