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Hello! I’m all packed and bathed and ready to run off this weekend in celebration of (/promotion of) my book, “Comforting Voids.” With so much on my plate the next few days, I decided to give myself two presents this evening, the calm before the storm.
A michelada, which I am currently drinking through a bright orange smoothie straw.
The gift of a rerun.
This week I’m sharing a piece from last summer. I love writing about the many minimum wage jobs I’ve had, for reasons yet unknown. Here’s hoping this story takes you back to a simple job where you got to eat old pastries and read on the clock.
Morning shift
6:45 a.m.
They arrive in unison, or so it seems. From my clear perspective behind the counter I am aware that his blue truck has been parked and waiting for several minutes, its exhaust sending grey waste into the black winter morning.
He comes in first, just as soon as her old Buick pulls in, so that it looks like fate instead of desperation.
“Good morning!” He acts surprised when she enters. I hand over his black coffee with room for cream. “I’ll get hers this morning.”
“The usual?” I ask with a monotone frown, like a bored bitch.
Fortunately they don’t notice my bad attitude. They’re too busy smiling in that way that people smile when they’re in trouble for something fun.
I ring them up and they both drop a dollar into the tip jar.
“By hon,” he says to me.
“Bye!” she says, and walks away leaving behind a cloud of sweet perfume.
Outside, she withdraws one of her Marlboro Lights from her tiny handbag and holds it in her left hand so that her wedding ring flickers daringly in the street light. I watch them talk through the window until the morning rush blocks my view.
9:05 a.m.
The morning rush subsides. I eat an old muffin.
9:10 a.m.
“I have something for you,” says Ted, walking into the door.
My mind searches for possibilities. A tip, for once? A brownie left over from one of yesterday’s visitations at his funeral home?
He reaches into the depths of his black trench coat and pulls out a CD — my CD. The CD he bought from me yesterday. He flings it onto the counter. “You can have it back,” he says. “I don’t want a refund, but you can have it back.”
“Um…why?” I’m hurt, but shy, so I find a snarky, untouchable tone. “Too edgy for you?”
“I liked it,” he says smirking, his dumb, stiff trench coat shifting as he pokes at the CD in reflection. “I liked it until track three, when you used some language I don’t appreciate.” He looks me in the eye with a straight face.
“You’re returning this CD because of the F-word?” I ask.
“I don’t welcome that kind of dark energy into my life,” he says.
“Huh. Wow, um—”
“Large coffee, please,” he looks back over his shoulder at a group of customers walking through the door, and tosses two dollars onto the counter.
11:21 a.m.
Attractive but obnoxious film student enters. I make him an Americano and flirt to no avail.
12:45 p.m.
In comes the boomer with the bucket hat for every occasion. He invites me to go sledding, and offers to take me to the mall on a shopping spree. I decline. He still leaves $15 in the tip jar.
1:35 p.m.
The day has dragged on effortfully. There are dirty dishes in the sink and straw wrappers on the floor, but instead of tending to these chores I take the pause to scrawl passionately in my journal about how eager I am to go home. I hear a car pull in and roll my eyes furiously at the interruption, but when I look up I see that it’s them and make for a quick recovery.
“Hi guys!” I say warmly.
“Busy day?” asks the wife, noticing the empty cups on the table by the door.
“Just slowed down,” I say.
There is friendly banter while I make their drinks — one vanilla latte with skim and one sugar-free vanilla latte with skim.
“Well,” says the husband, “we’re off!”
“I guess this is it then?” I say. “I guess this is goodbye?”
“We don’t say goodbyes, Katie,” the wife says. “They’re too hard and too permanent. We just say ‘See you later.’”
After they’ve driven off I turn back to my journal and record this farewell. I look over at the absurdly large collection of syrup flavors — maple syrup, peanut butter, hazelnut, marshmallow, sugar-free peppermint patty, tiramisu.
“This place is strange to me,” I write. “I don’t belong here anymore.”
Thank you for reading! Have any feedback for me? I’d love to hear it — so much that I created this form just for that purpose.