Putting her down and moving to grab my things, I ignore her remark about my mother and reply, “I don’t mind the weekends so much, as long as I’m not closing. I hate dealing with the drunks at the end of the night. Did I tell you about what happened last Friday night?”
Picking up her duffel bag and following me out the door, she says, “No, what happened?”
Locking the door, I start the tale. “So, it’s crazy busy—no surprise—the line is out the door and we’ve been closed already for ten minutes. Duncan had called out sick, so I wasn’t able to guard the door right at closing. You know how I told you most of them are just buying mints to get their parking validated? Well for whatever reason, they all decided they needed blended drinks, so I had Kisha go and guard the door to not let anybody else in and I slid to the bar to pump out the drinks.
“So I’m blending away like a madman, trying to get these people their drinks. It’s as loud as a nightclub in there and the people are drunk as piss. Two douchebags—you know the type, wearing designer jeans, 7 Diamonds button up shirts with big collars opened halfway down their chest, pointy Italian shoes, and spiked-up shiny faux-hawks—are swaying on their feet and trying to hit on this drunk girl. She’s wearing a little black dress showing tons of cleavage and has to constantly pull the bottom part down so her butt doesn’t show. She’s been walking around like a stork in her six-inch heels and she stumbles up against the sneeze guard by the bar and slurs, ‘Where’s my drink, you making my drink. I need my drink to get away from these assholes.’
“I hand out four drinks, shouting to be heard and one of them is hers so I let her know and return to making more. She grabs it and starts sucking it down, leaning against the wall while the two dudes continue to try to get her to come with them. I keep making drinks, yelling them out, and watching the door to make sure Kisha doesn’t let anybody in. And after a couple of minutes, this drunk bitch has consumed her entire drink and drops the empty cup on the ground.
“She starts swaying a little more, so one of the dumbasses tries to grab her. She swats him away, almost falling in the process and stumbles her way behind the counter. Before I can do anything—I’m holding a pitcher of blended coffee in my hands and am poised to pour it—she reaches over to steady herself over the ice bin, and pukes in it.”
Opening the door to leave the building, Rachael says, “Shut up! She did not.”
“She did indeed chica, she did indeed.”
“Oh my god, what did you do?” she asks.
“I got her out of there first. Then, I finished making the drinks and handing them out and got the rest of them out as fast as I could.”
“What about the puke? What did you do about that?”
“I poured pitchers and pitchers of hot water into the ice bin and let most of it drain away before putting some latex gloves on and cleaning it out.”
Grabbing hold of one of my hands she shakes her head and says, “God I love my job.”
My laughing is interrupted by a voice from above. “Jason! Who is that lovely creature holding your hand?” rasps a gravelly voice.
Looking up I see my neighbor Barry poking his head out of his window. He’s lived in our building since they first converted it from a church to loft-style apartments. A retired lawyer from New York, his Brooklyn accent hasn’t faded in the slightest. Uncommonly sharp and more than little perverted, his humor is always inappropriate and very, very funny.
“Barry,” I say. “This is Rachael.” She waves at him and gives him one of her big bright smiles.
“Rachael, it’s a pleasure to meet you. You’re ravishing! If I was thirty years younger, I’d steal you away.”
To divert the direction of our conversation, I ask him, “Hey Barry, do you park in the back?”
“Of course, why do you ask?”
“Both Adam and Eddie mentioned the Shit Barcode to me today and I didn’t have time to ask what they were talking about. Do you know what they’re talking about?”
Laughing until he has a brief coughing fit and dropping his cigarette, he chokes out, “Oy vey, you haven’t seen that foul thing yet?”
“No, I don’t park back there.”
He lights up another cigarette and then says, “Go back there and check it out! You can’t miss it. It’s the backside wall of the Library Lofts next to us.”
“Alright, but what is it exactly?”
With a maniacal grin he says, “It’s the most disgusting thing I have ever seen. But the question to ask, is not what it is but why it’s there to begin with. Let me ask you a question.”
“Okay.”
“Where is the nearest public bathroom?”
I find the question a little weird, but I answer it and point to where it is. “Right there at Pokéz.”
“No, no, no. Where is the nearest Public restroom. Public with a capital P, no pun intended,” he laughs.
“I don’t follow you Barry.”
“Look, Rafa’s bathroom is open to the public as long as they’re customers. He won’t let you walk in off the street and take a shit in his toilet without first buying a burrito or something. All businesses that provide ‘public’ restrooms can deny the use of their restroom to non-paying persons.”
I’d forgotten about that since my store doesn’t have a restroom available to customers.
Barry continues, “So, where is the closest Public restroom?”
“The Library.”
“Right, and what about when the Library is closed?”
I had to think a bit before answering, “All the way down on Third, between C and B street.”
“Exactly, it would take you fifteen minutes to walk there from here. Good luck making it if you’re about to shit your pants.”
“Okay, so there’s not that many places to go to the bathroom—”
“Oh my god!” interrupts Rachael.
Barry grins even bigger and says, “Smart too, I like her even more!”
Turning to her, still confused, I ask, “You understand what he’s on about?”
“I think so. How many homeless people sleep over by the library and the post office every night?”
“Around thirty or more.”
“Where do you think they’re going to the bathroom?”
Barry laughs at the look on my face and finishes, “They sit against the wall back there and shit! There’s so much of it that the Five Star parking lot attendants throw bags of kitty litter over it to absorb the smell and every month they paint over the skid marks on the wall. And they don’t always get the right color of grey to match the wall, so it looks like a giant barcode. Hence the nickname we gave it.”
“Get out of here,” I say disbelievingly.
“You get out of here. Go check it out. Speaking of the bathroom, duty calls. Rachael it was nice to meet you. If you ever want to chuck youthful good looks for wily experience, come knock on my door.”
“It was nice to meet you too Barry,” she says as she waves up at him, politely ignoring his offer.
“Later Barry.”
She tugs on my arm and says, “Let’s go look at it.”
I look down at her, and in that moment I no longer see an uninteresting girl. I see a potential future that’s seems more and more bright. “You’re out of your mind. There is no way I’m going back there.”
“Come on!” she pleads. “Don’t be such a wuss.”
“You are disgusting.”
“I am not! I’m just curious, come on, let’s go look at it!”
“No way, you can check that out all by yourself. Besides, I still want to get a cup of coffee before I start.”
She relents and pouts a little and says, “Fine, but we’re looking at that later.”
“Keep dreaming.”
Into Thin Air
Rachael’s been sick for a few days. My mother has been surprisingly absent, skipping her daily torture trip to my store. And I haven’t seen the Flower Girl since our crosswalk crossing. I’m still unsure of how that makes
me feel. Well, maybe not on how I feel; I know it makes me feel like shit. I’m just not sure if that feeling is justified.
Even though things have been going really well with Rachael, I can’t shake my feelings for the Flower Girl. I don’t know where we stand. But I need to find out before going much further with Rachael. I know that makes me look like an asshole hedging his bets but I don’t know what else to do. Right now I’m passing the newsstand with the flower shop coming into view. She’s not there. I haven’t seen her there for a few weeks but I haven’t been exactly looking either.
Walking up to the shop I get the owner’s attention. “Hey Raziel, have you—”
“Haven’t seen her,” he interrupts.
“What do you mean?”
“She quit two week ago. All those perverts keep coming round, wanting to buy the weed! I try sell them real flowers. No go. I tell them same thing. I don’t know where she is.”
I mutter my thanks and walk toward the stairwell, lighting up a cigarette and dialing her number. It rings once and then, “We’re sorry, the number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.”
My stomach sinks a little as I start to worry about her. Lost in thought I nearly jump out of my skin when a hand claps me on the shoulder.
“That was amazing!” laughs Elena, the culprit standing next to me in the stairwell.
“Christ Elena! I nearly pissed myself. Seriously, you’re a ninja.”
Laughing some more she says, “Thanks but I think an elephant could’ve snuck up on you just now.”
“Welcome back,” I say as I give her a quick hug. “How was your vacation?”
“Oh my god Chile was amazing, my cousins constantly made fun of me and my Spanish, calling me a gringa. We went to so many night clubs. The food was to die for, made me miss my Mom. All in all it was amazing and I really needed the time off. But I just got in last night. I feel like I need a vacation from my vacation now.”
In between blowing smoke rings I reply, “Yeah, you should always give yourself a day to recuperate before you go back to work. How was the weather?”
“Well its summer there, so it was fantastic. We spent like literally all day at the beach every day before going out at night. But hey, I start in ten minutes, so walk me in?” she asks as she wraps herself around my arm and starts walking toward the store with her head comfortably resting on my shoulder. “Tell me what’s new with you! How’s the dating life? Has your mom brought in any new trophies? Gimme gimme gimme.”
I look down at her beautiful eyes and marvel at how natural and comfortable I feel around her. My worries start to weigh less as I give her the scoop before our shifts begin.
Once inside I unfortunately have to relinquish the lovely Elena as everyone greets her in excited tones and quick hugs on our way in.
“Elena! Welcome back!”
“Grande non-fat no-foam latte for Graham!”
“Excuse me, do you have a tall mocha for Janice coming up?”
Entering the backroom, the Cow swivels around in her chair and says, “Elena! How was Mexico?”
I slip past Elena into the bathroom to put away my stuff as she replies, “Well, it was Chile and it was good.”
The Cow barks her hideous laughter and says, “Sorry, I knew it was one of those Central American countries.”
“Actually, Chile is a South American country.”
Stepping out of the bathroom I add my own two cents, “And Mexico isn’t in Central America Sarah, its right here in North America just twenty minutes south of us.”
Elena won’t look at me, knowing my clearly displayed disgust with the Cow would probably make her laugh. The Cow is nonplussed at her complete ignorance as once again her true motive in talking to Elena is the hope of acquiring a delivery service. “Whatever Jason, listen Elena, would you do me a favor and grab me a grande peppermint mocha with extra whip cream and a blueberry scone?”
Before Elena can answer I notice that on the Cow’s desk are four grande cups with her trademark lipstick marks on the lids. “Seriously Sarah! You’ve already had four and you’ve been here for what, like three hours tops? You could at least use a reusable cup.”
Conflict-hating Elena says, “Okay, I’m going to go clock in,” and slips out behind me.
“Uhg, thanks a lot Jason! Now I have to get it myself.”
“Oh my god, what a travesty.”
“I am so sick of you judging me. I only ask people to get me things so that I can continue to get my work done back here. This schedule’s not going to write itself you know.”
“Yeah, I know. I also know that it is Thursday and it was supposed to be out yesterday at the latest. And our last manager, Kristy, usually had it done by Tuesday, you know.”
“THAT’S IT!” she nearly screams. “You don’t have to like me Jason and you can think whatever you want about how I manage this store. But you don’t get to talk to me like that because whether you like it or not, I’m your boss. And I’m not going to tolerate that kind of disrespect from you anymore. You can go home.”
I’m shocked into disbelief which quickly turns to outrage. “I haven’t even started yet! You can’t send me home when I’m not even—”
“I sure as hell can! Just because you’re not on the clock doesn’t mean you get to come in here, make fun of me, judge me, and insult me! As your boss I deserve to be treated with respect. And if you’re not going to do so, then I also have the right to send you home. When you come back tomorrow, we’ll discuss this further provided you have a better attitude.”
“Seriously Sarah, how are you going to run the floor and finish the schedule if you send me home? You can’t—”
“I can’t? You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. Get your stuff and go home.”
My heart is pounding and my brain can’t make a coherent thought. Sarah has dismissed me and returned to fiddling with the computer. Numbly I walk back into the bathroom and gather my things. Walking out to the front I notice everybody is quiet, having heard everything. Elena looks at me, a mixture of “you bring this on yourself” and pity in her eyes. The sounds of the store accompany me on my way out.
“Tall non-fat no-whip mocha and an iced grande whole milk latte for Jen.”
“I’m sorry, I changed my mind. Can I get whip cream on the mocha?”
“Of course dear, let me fix that right up for you.”
I can’t believe it. I seriously can’t. I don’t even know how to feel about it. I hate this place but I can’t exactly afford to not be here. Today’s wages are poof, gone into thin air and now I have the whole day to myself with nothing to do. I decide to go by the Flower Girl’s place and see if she’s there.
The late morning sun and the relatively quiet streets of downtown pull me further inward. My reflective thoughts help me tune out the homeless people begging for change and cursing my refusal to acknowledge them. The brick sidewalk under my feet leads right up to the call box for her apartment. There’s no answer when I buzz her unit. 7585# on the dial pad lets me in and I start climbing the stairs trying to think of something to say should she be here.
I knock on her door over and over, putting my ear against it in hopes of hearing something from inside. Nothing.
“Excuse me,” says a deep voice from behind me, startling me for the second time today.
I turn around to find the apartment manager standing there looking down at me from his 6’5’’ height. “You’re Jason right?”
“Yeah. David, isn’t it?”
“Dug actually. Dug McCready.”
I’ve only met him once. At least I got the first letter right. “Sorry, I’m bad with names.”
A good-natured chuckle escapes his mouth and he says, “Don’t worry about it. But hey, I’ve got to get going and she left something for you. Let’s go downstairs to the office and get it.”
Confusion clouds my thoughts as I follow him to the stairs where he adds, “Hope you don’t mind the stairs, but I don’t trust tha
t elevator.”
“Yeah, me neither,” I mumble. “So she moved out?”
Looking over his shoulder with sympathy in his giant blue eyes he says, “Yeah, about two weeks ago.”
The stairs take forever, even with Dug’s loping two-at-a-time pace. My heart starts to pound and I wonder why she left without saying goodbye.
Reaching the office, Dug unlocks the door and says, “She told me she wasn’t sure if you’d come by or not but that she wanted to leave this for you just in case you did.”
“Did she tell you where she went?”
Handing me an envelope with my name on it he replies, “Sorry mate, she didn’t say.”
Opening the envelope with nervous hands I pull out a letter from her and start reading. My heart beats faster as I read through her words.
Dug’s hand on my shoulder snaps me out of my reverie, “I’m sorry, but I have to get going.”
Folding up the letter I reply, “Yeah, no problem. Thanks again.”
As I’m opening the door to leave Dug says, “I’m going out with a couple friends to Maloney’s later tonight. Swing by. It’ll give you a night of distraction.”
“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
The letter feels heavy in my hands as I walk back out into the late morning and quiet streets of downtown.
Rejecting Reality
I spent the rest of yesterday reflecting over my being sent home and agonizing over the Flower Girl’s letter. I had no way of finding her, no way of helping her. I ended up swinging by the bar and chatting with Dug for a little while, hoping to find out anything to help point me in the right direction to try and find her. Sadly he wasn’t much help in that department. But I did get a chance to vent harshly about work to someone who understands. Turns out he used to work at the same coffee shop a few years before I got there. He was keenly aware of the difficulties. I envied his easy manner and his ability to shrug off the nastier parts of life. And while he was very understanding of the shitty parts of the job, he did tell me that I wasn’t exactly blameless in the incident with the Cow.
Part of me—a very small part, so small I’m still not sure of its existence—realizes that I shouldn’t have talked to my boss the way I did, and have done for quite some time. But my rationalization cannot be calmed. She is the single worst person I have ever worked with, let alone for. I have had several competent managers and two really great ones. And the disparity between them and Sarah is astonishing, so much so that I cannot understand how she still has a job.
The Dark Roast Page 14