They say the café draws people from all walks of life.
You get to see a slice of everyone here: college students cramming for finals, older couples sharing quiet breakfasts, and, of course, regulars like Leo.
Everyone loves Leo.
With his easy smile and loyal guide dog, Bailey, he lights up the café, even though he can’t see it for himself.
But lately, there’s been another regular: Jenna, a social media influencer who treats our cozy spot like her personal studio.
She’s got this way about her, like the rest of us are just props in the background of her perfectly staged life.
Most of us tolerate her with quiet patience. We’ve gotten used to her breezing in, beelining for the sunniest seat by the window, and scattering her little props all over the table like she owns the place.
But today, she’s outdone herself.
Today, she actually brushes off Leo. Dismisses him like he’s just a shadow crossing her light.
And something about that rubs everyone the wrong way.
The Perfect Picture
If there’s one thing Jenna loves, it’s that window seat. She comes in around the same time every morning, that seat like a magnet pulling her right to it.
Today’s no different.
She sweeps in with an oversized sweater draping off one shoulder, her hair tucked under a fashionable hat, and her phone already in her hand.
She’s all set for another session of what she calls “content creation,” though to the rest of us, it just looks like endless selfies.
She doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge anyone, just heads straight for the chair like the rest of us don’t even exist.
Jenna sets down her coffee, a pastel-pink purse, and a carefully selected bouquet of wildflowers from who knows where.
A book—one of those vintage hardcovers that probably hasn’t seen a page turned in years—completes the arrangement.
For the next few minutes, she’s absorbed, leaning in, adjusting angles, tapping her screen, pausing only to take a sip of her now-cold coffee.
Her Instagram feed must be a shrine to that window seat by now.
Meanwhile, there’s a bit of a line at the counter, and I catch the barista, Ella, rolling her eyes as she watches Jenna fussing with her setup.
Ella’s got a dry sense of humor, and I can tell she’s biting her tongue to keep from saying something sharp.
It’s not the first time Jenna’s monopolized that seat, but most people just let her be.
After all, who has time to argue with someone who’s practically in another (self absorbed) world?
Just as Jenna settles into her shoot, an elderly couple comes in, looking for a comfortable spot by the window. The woman gives Jenna a hopeful glance, but Jenna doesn’t even acknowledge her.
“I need this for a photoshoot,” she says offhandedly when they ask to sit.
She doesn’t look up, doesn’t even smile. It’s like she’s doing them a favor by explaining it.
The couple backs away awkwardly, and Jenna just continues snapping away, oblivious to the uncomfortable murmur that’s starting to ripple through the café.
A Disregarded Request
About twenty minutes later, Leo comes in with Bailey, his guide dog, padding beside him.
Leo’s one of those regulars who never fails to lift the room just by walking in.
His usual spot is the window seat, where he and Bailey settle into a routine: a warm coffee, a book in Braille, and a gentle view of the town square that he “sees” through the stories we tell him.
There’s something calming about watching Leo here; he doesn’t rush, doesn’t demand attention, just moves through his morning with a quiet grace.
Today, though, he’s in for a surprise.
When Leo reaches the window, he stops, noticing Jenna’s presence through a sense sharper than sight.
“Excuse me,” he says politely, his voice gentle. “Would you mind if I take this seat? It’s easier for me and Bailey here.”
Jenna finally looks up, but her face registers only mild irritation. She flicks her eyes over Leo and his guide dog with an expression somewhere between disinterest and impatience.
“Oh… sorry, but I’m kind of in the middle of something important,” she says, her tone clipped as if the request is absurd.
She waves her phone slightly, as if he should know what she’s talking about. “This is, like, work for me.”
Leo pauses, and I can see the confusion on his face, the slight downturn of his mouth as he absorbs her words.
But he just nods, like he’s used to this, like it’s just another brush-off he has to deal with.
“Thank you anyway,” he says quietly, and he and Bailey make their way to a small, hard-backed chair in the far corner.
The whole café falls silent for a beat, everyone watching, a mix of disappointment and anger simmering below the surface.
Jenna is completely oblivious, already snapping away at her screen, adjusting her coffee cup to get the angle just right.
She doesn’t notice the side glances, doesn’t catch the quiet sighs from regulars who are fed up with her routine.
Even Ella, usually all smiles, mutters something under her breath as she watches Leo get settled, clearly annoyed.
As Jenna continues with her “work,” a couple of patrons exchange looks, some shaking their heads.
I notice one man staring at Jenna’s oblivious photo session and then glancing over at Leo, as if weighing something in his mind.
Jenna, of course, is unaware of any of this. She’s too wrapped up in capturing her “perfect” moment, oblivious to the fact that she’s not the center of the café, that she’s far from it.
But even as she sits there, we all feel it—the subtle shift in the room, the sense that maybe, just maybe, she’s finally gone a step too far.
The Chaos Unfolds
By early afternoon, the café is buzzing with energy as people gather for the community fundraiser.
It’s an event for a local guide dog training program, something close to everyone’s heart here, especially Leo’s. The café has decorated the place with banners, posters, and even set up donation jars at each table.
People pour in—families, dog lovers, locals—all eager to support the cause. The crowd quickly fills every inch of the café, and the staff is stretched thin trying to serve drinks while managing the excitement.
Jenna, still camped out in her window seat, barely registers the commotion.
In fact, she looks annoyed, casting irritated glances at the people squeezing past her table, trying to protect her delicate “setup” from being jostled.
The steady stream of new faces in the café has turned her serene background into a bustling scene, and her frustration is palpable.
At one point, a small child bumps into her table, nearly knocking over her coffee.
Jenna scoffs loudly, muttering, “Can people not see I’m working here?” and straightens her phone tripod, completely oblivious to the fact that her Live video feed is running.
She’d set it to Live earlier to show her “morning vibe,” but she hasn’t realized it’s still streaming.
Her followers are tuning in, expecting her usual carefully curated moment, but instead they’re witnessing her irritation, watching her push people away with disdain.
The crowd keeps growing, and at last, the café manager himself approaches her table, gently clearing his throat.
“I’m sorry, but this area is reserved for our event today,” he says, his tone polite but firm. “We need this space for some of our guests with accessibility needs.”
Jenna rolls her eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Are you serious?” she snaps, her voice tinged with entitlement.
She begrudgingly starts packing up her things, muttering under her breath, completely unaware that her every word is being broadcast live.
She throws her phone into her purse without stopping the stream, and with a dramatic huff, she heads toward a cramped table in the back corner, away from the window, away from the light.
A few patrons in the café stifle smirks, sensing that she’s finally facing a little dose of reality.
Live and Exposed
Now seated in the dim, unphotogenic corner, Jenna is visibly fuming, scrolling through her phone and oblivious to the fact that her Live feed is still running.
Meanwhile, Leo is ushered to the now-open window seat, greeted warmly by the staff and other patrons.
Bailey settles comfortably beside him, his usual spot restored.
A few patrons gather around Leo, chatting with him and Bailey, snapping candid photos for the fundraiser.
There’s a warmth and authenticity in the air—a kind of happiness that can’t be staged or filtered.
From her corner, Jenna watches, her expression sour.
She frowns as Leo and Bailey become the center of attention, the very spot where she had hoped to create her own perfect moment now filled with genuine community spirit.
And then, as she flips back to her Live feed, she freezes.
On the screen, comments are flooding in, dozens of them, with shocked reactions from her followers.
She starts to scroll, her eyes widening as she reads:
“Wow… did she seriously just brush off that man with the guide dog?” “Who does she think she is?” “Unfollowed. This is so ugly to watch.”
“Guess the ‘vibes’ aren’t so perfect after all, huh?”
Jenna’s face pales as she realizes the full extent of what’s happened.
Her followers have seen everything—the dismissive way she’d turned down Leo, her selfish insistence on monopolizing the seat, and her tantrum when asked to move.
Her carefully crafted image of a serene, altruistic influencer has unraveled in real-time, exposed in front of the very audience she’d hoped to impress.
Panicked, she ends the Live stream and tries to play it off, hoping it won’t spread.
Meanwhile, Leo, surrounded by friends and café staff, enjoys his usual spot in the sunlit window, oblivious to Jenna’s downfall but content in his corner of the world.