Frappucinnos Don't Fix Anything

On Thursday, a man walked into my Starbucks, wet from the rain and stood in the middle of the store looking disoriented. Middle aged, hispanic, dressed normally, everything usual, but... his eyes were unfocused.

I asked, "Sir, can we get a drink started for you?"
He chose his words slowly and carefully, "Do you have...the Frappuccino with the extra caramel?"

"We sure do, sir. Would you like one?"

He smiled like this was great news.

"Yes. Thank you. And how are you doing today?"
"I'm great. How are you?"
"Well, I'm in a lot of pain." The way he said it made me think he had just stubbed his toe or sprained his ankle.
"Oh! You are? You're hurting right now?"
And he replied, "Do you know that pain you feel when she tells you that she doesn't love you anymore?"

...and that's when I realized he was pretty drunk. But he was talking so calmly and his eyes were so sad, I didn't feel uneasy.

Unsure how to respond, I just said simply, "Yeah. I do know that pain. It hurts a lot. I'm so sorry."
"I don't....I don't know how to go on." He ran his hand through his hair. "She... she's gone. Wha--I don't even know what day it is."
He was clearly on the verge of tears, so I tried to make my voice sound as gentle as possible, "It's Thursday, sir."
"Thank you." And with a gesture, he asked for my hand and when I gave it to him, he just held it, like a frozen handshake. That moment was so surreal for me, standing there in my green apron, having my hand held over the counter by a grieving stranger. Right as I began to wonder how long we would stand like that, he turned it into a funny handshake, complete with final fist bump.

When he paid for his drink, he reached into his pockets and pulled out handfuls and handfuls of twenty dollar bills, all of them crunched into tiny paper balls. The sight of so much money scattered like trash on the counter took me aback.

"Sir...?" I ventured. "Do you have a wallet? Let's put these in your wallet."
He gave me another sad smile and took out his empty billfold.

With no one else in line, I was able to take the time to flatten out each of the bills and stack them in a neat pile, the only way I could think to help this heartbroken man. Before I finished, he pushed one of the twenties into my tip box.
"Oh no, no, no," I interjected, worried that in his state he had no idea what he was doing. "You don't want to tip us that much. Please, sir."
"NO." He finally raised his voice a bit, and stopped my hand from removing his tip.

"I'm well off. Look at all this money," he said motioning to the crumpled pile I had made. "There's more too. A lot more...I'm fine. Don't have to worry about money. But it doesn't matter. How does this help me if I don't have her? None of it matters." He looked at the paper like it really was trash, and completely disregarding my wallet suggestion, shoved it back into his pocket.

When I handed him his venti extra caramel caramel frappuccino, he seemed even sadder, like he was realizing that even the silliest, happiest looking drink in the world wouldn't help either, and he walked back into the rain.