A Purple Coffee Maker

Public transportation can provide a treasure trove of characters for writers. Over the years that I’ve ridden the busses and trains of LA’s public transportation system, quite a few have introduced themselves.

A few have even remained in my treasure chest, waiting to be integrated into a story idea.

• The elderly lady in fur coat and the tea green colored pant suit with matching turban perching imperiously on a suitcase on Hollywood Blvd;
• The young man gracefully combining ballet and pole dancing on the subway;
• The rather large teenager rocking out to his favorite jam, complete with air guitar and ear buds.

I met a new one this past weekend.

I had gone out with a friend who was new to the city to teach him the ins and outs of the subway system and we decided to explore downtown LA, affectionately now known as DTLA. After an enjoyable lunch and invigorating 4 mile walk taking in many of the sights in DTLA, we decided it was time to head back to the Valley where we live. We boarded the subway at one of the DTLA stops, sitting in two seats near the middle doors of the car and began the 25 minute ride to the end of the line. A few stops later, a woman boarded our car at the forward doors. What struck me initially as she made her way down the aisle toward us, was the fact the she had not one but two shopping carts; the personal kind commonly used by people walking long distances with groceries or laundry. However, hers were small but quite full. She also had positioned a clear backpack on one of the carts. She wore a thick coat, grayish in color with a matching headband pulling her short graying hair away from her face. She was managing her possessions as best she could, pushing one cart while pulling the other, struggling to keep the backpack on the cart and not on another passenger as the train lurched along the tracks. 

While maneuvering her way through the aisle, she scanned the rear of the car hoping for a seat which would accommodate her and her belongings. Finding none to her liking, she decided to remain standing in the center of the car near us, with her luggage by her side, the backpack still perched precariously on its cart. 

I glanced at her belongings; a plastic water bottle hung from the handle of one of the carts; both of which contained several items of neatly folded and carefully stacked clothing. A large calculator sealed in a plastic bag was pressed against the side of one of the carts. At first I thought she might be homeless, with her carts and all. Yet, as she drew closer, I dismissed that judgment as her clothes were clean; her face appeared recently washed; her hair was simply and neatly pulled back from her face and none of her possessions showed any effects of having been on the street for an extended period of time. I re-assessed that she was simply traveling with a lot of items. As I observed her and her possessions, it was then I noticed something else.

Nearly everything she had was purple! The water bottle was a deep shade of eggplant. Her coat and matching headband were not gray, but a pale lavender. Many of the clothes in her carts were shades of purple from lilac and orchid to grape and plum. But what made me laugh silently to myself was the calculator; it, too, was purple! Plain, ordinary, everyday purple.

I leaned to my friend and whispered, “She must have a color fetish!” He chuckled.

As the train came to a stop, a woman seated in one of the other seats near us, disembarked and the Lady in Purple moved to take her place. She maneuvered one cart onto the seat closest to the aisle, staking claim to it, while grabbing the other one so it wouldn’t roll away, pulling it onto the single seat in front of her. Her backpack fell into the aisle near me, and I reached over to help her retrieve it.

“You must love purple,” I said to her, handing her the backpack as she sat down, her cart between us.

“A little too much,” she replied somewhat sheepishly, yet grinning.

“Have you heard of The Purple Store?” I asked.

“There’s a purple store?” She replied, her eyes widening, her grin spreading from one ear to the other, as if she’d won the lottery.

“Yes, unfortunately, it’s in Seattle,” I answered, afraid I was disappointing her of a new plum purchase. "And everything they have is purple! Even kitchen appliances!" 

She gasped! “Things for the kitchen? And it’s in Seattle? I have family all over Seattle, Bellingham, Spokane, and there’s another town, starts with a  ‘C.’ Why haven’t they told me about this?” I could picture her contacting her relatives chastising them for not providing her with this source of a new amethyst acquisition. “So, I could just Google it?” She asked, hope returning to her voice.

“Yes, I’m sure you could.”

“Oh, I’m so happy to run into you today! Thank you!” She replied, giggling like a young school girl. I smiled and returned to my seat.

As our train pulled into the final stop, I asked the Lady in Purple if she needed help taking her belongings upstairs.

“Oh, no, honey. I was just tired of standing on the platform waiting for the train; I’m taking this one back the other way.” The young school girl in her giggled again as if she was getting away with something. I smiled at her ingenuity.

She clapped her hands, giggling again, “I’m so happy to have met you! Have a nice day!”

“And you as well,” I answered, smiling.

My friend and I disembarked.

Sometimes, it takes so little to make someone’s day. In this case, a simple comment about her favorite color.

And where she could buy more of it.

Like a purple coffee maker.

I can't verify if this is still available. I believe it must be; somewhere, somehow.

To visit the Purple Store, click here.