The Coffee Girl

I pushed the back of my hand against my forehead, moving away any unwanted strands of dark hair. Making a caramel macchiato was a stressful process and I needed all the focus I had. Starbuck’s wasn’t exactly the career path I had intended on, but living in Chicago and having to pay for school and gas to fill the piece of crap car I had entitled some sort of income.

The coffee shop a few blocks down from my apartment was exactly what I needed at a time like this. Though, the manager’s constant beckoning I could live without.

“You’re doing it wrong, Calli,” Malcolm sneered as he peered over my shoulder at the half-made coffee. ‘Bite me’ was the first thing that came to my mind, but I held back at causing any more trouble than was needed. So what if my boss was a complete asshole? So what if there were a million people waiting in line for drinks that—if I may say so myself—were being made perfectly fine?

“I don’t think so, Malcolm,” I replied, letting some of my hostility seep through. But I managed to keep my composure. After almost a year of dealing with him, I had learned how to handle it. I just had to brush it off my shoulder and go about my job. I knew I was doing it right.

Malcolm let out one long, melodramatic sigh and I looked up just in time to catch him giving his famous eye roll. “Move, I’ll do it.” Bumping me with his hip, he took the cup from my hands and I was sent against the opposing counter. “You man the cash register.”

I adjusted my green apron, gave him a dirty look as I passed, and moved over to the cash register where people had already begun crowding around. It was intimidating watching them all as they impatiently stood there with their hands in their pockets and aggravated expressions on their faces.

“It’s another hockey game,” Rachel said from beside me. She was slipping on her apron and tying the strings loosely behind her back. “We should have expected this much action. “You know”—she moved to the register next to mine and we began serving customers while still trying to keep a conversation—“I’m really starting to get sick if this. Every day it’s like there’s a new game.”

I laughed, knowing that without Rachel—my partner, my only company in this hell hole, and without a doubt my best friend—I wouldn’t make it through my life sane. “Well, the season just started, so I think we’ll be dealing with a lot more than this.”

Rachel let out a grunt of disdain as she took a 20 from a customer and sorted out the change.

I shrugged. “It’s only a matter of time before so many customers come that Malcolm can’t handle it any more. I’ve seen him try and talk to people. It’s not a pretty sight.” I crinkled my nose just thinking about it and Rachel snorted with laughter.

We both cocked our heads over our shoulders to look at him slaving away over the steaming coffee maker that he obviously didn’t know how to use as well as Rachel and I did.

Rachel leaned over to me, her voice turning into a whisper. “I think that’s why he was promoted to manager,” she said as she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “The guy has no social skills whatsoever. He’s completely and utterly awkward in so many different ways.”

I tried my hardest to suppress the laugh that was bubbling deep in my chest.

Managing to fix a coffee, Malcolm handed it to the customer with a proud smile on his face then turned back to us; the smile slowly turning into a frown. “Your aprons aren’t tied properly,” he said viciously.

“They’re fine,” Rachel retorted, her voice just as vicious. Sometimes I wished I could be like her; fearless when it came to standing up to people. Just because Malcolm was her boss she didn’t let him scare her, and he never seemed to grow the guts to fire her. I knew, though, that such luck would only happen to her.

Malcolm ran his tongue over his top teeth then smoothed his hand over his gelled, pale blonde hair. “The handbook says they have to be fastened securely as to prevent accidents.” He walked behind the both of us and gave our strings a loose tug. They immediately untied, leaving our aprons to hang out in front of us. “Does that looked securely fashioned?” he asked smugly then walked back to the coffee maker.

“Oh, what I would give to see all that product in his hair catch on fire from the espresso machine,” I mumbled as he plastered on a fake smile for the customers and turned his back to us.

Rachel placed a hand on my shoulder. “You and I both.”

☼☼☼☼☼☼

The next day seemed to just be a repeat of the last. I had woken up with a slight head ache, hating Rachel for forcing me to go out for drinks with her after our shift, and hating myself even more for not stocking up the medicine cabinet in the washroom with Advil.

That was usually how things went. We started work at 12 pm and finished around 9 pm then had an argument over what we would do after. I always ended up losing that argument, though I had to admit that my alcohol tolerance was quickly rising. That was a plus.

After brushing my teeth, tripping over the pair of jeans I’d forgotten to hang up the night before, and quickly pouring myself a bowl of cereal and wolfing it down as fast as I could, I grabbed my bag and headed to what I hated considering my job.

It wasn’t exactly the job, per say, that I hated. Being surrounded by the rich aroma of coffee? Who wouldn’t like that? No, it was the fact that Malcolm was considered my superior and from time to time there was always that bitchy customer I had to deal with who seemed relentless in making my morning a living hell.

Today was one of those days. Unfortunately.

“Ma’am,” I said with a calming breath. Breath in coffee, breathe out peace. “I’ve made your coffee twice. I really don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. It’s the same way we’ve been making it since Starbuck’s first opened and it’ll be the same until it closes.” Wow, it seemed like a bit of Rachel’s aggressiveness was rubbing off on me. I assumed it was because she wasn’t there that day. I had to be strong without her.

I shot a glance over this lady’s shoulder at the customer that waited oh-so-patiently for his coffee. It was sad that he had to waste his time with something like this.

The red-headed lady pushed her horn rimmed glasses higher up on her nose, and let her mouth fall open, as though appalled. I really didn’t care at this point. Starbuck’s was a multimillion dollar company. They could survive without her.

“Fine,” she huffed, snatching the cup out of my hand and spilling a fair amount on my palm and fingers, “I’ll take this one, but don’t expect to ever see me back here again.” She spun around, wrapping the strange cape she wore around her shoulders with determination, and left the coffee shop.

“I really don’t care,” I mumbled as I tried to find a napkin to wipe my hand. “I’m sorry, I’ll be with you in a minute,” I said to the only customer that stood by the counter.

“It’s fine,” he replied with what seemed to be a smile, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was primarily focused on finding a napkin to wipe off the coffee that had now become sticky.

Finally seeing one atop the shelf near the back, I viciously rubbed my hand clean then moved to the register. “Ookay,” I breathed, “what can I get you?” The man stared at me, his childlike features in a small smirk as his eyes quickly flashed to the menu above my head. I knew him. His face was too familiar to forget, especially in Chicago. It was Patrick Kane.

I was just about to ask him and, maybe, even gush over the fact that a professional hockey player was standing in front of me, but I thought better of it. Didn’t famous people hate that kind of stuff? The last thing I wanted was to drive him away. Unlike the red-headed lady that was shooting me dirty looks from outside, he was a customer Starbuck’s could use.

I had my mouth open as the words ‘Patrick Kane’ began forming, but closed it before they came out. His eyes continued scanning the menu before he ordered a latte. I nodded, took his money, gave him his change, and moved to the machine. This was all done silently. Silence was golden, especially on a day where I could do something to make myself look stupid.

I finished pushing the foam onto the coffee then slid it towards Patrick, this time hoping none of it spilled. He took it from my hand with a smile.

“So, are you new here?” He inquired, that same youthful smirk playing on his lips. He was definitely a ladies’ man, I could tell that right off the bat.

“You mean Starbuck’s?” I asked, confused.

He nodded and took a sip of his coffee.

I shook my head. “Nope, I’ve been here for a good year or so.” A depressed sigh escaped my lips and he seemed to smile more.

“Wow,” he replied, “I guess I haven’t been here in a while. The last time I was here there was a guy with greasy blonde hair working the cash.” Another sip.

“Yup, that’s my manager,” I said with another sigh. “Well, I hope you enjoy the coffee.” I gave him a small wave, priding myself in the fact that I had managed to play it cool in front of the Blackhawk’s number 88. I turned around and began filling up the stack of cups next to the machine.

“What’s your name?” I heard his voice say. I slowly turned around to face him. He flashed a smile my way then licked the bit of coffee off of his lips. Was this actually happening? There was only one reason guys asked for girls’ names. Was he hitting on me?

“Um...” I scrunched my brow a bit as I thought the whole situation over. Patrick Kane? He was cute, and definitely talented, but there wasn’t that spark when I first saw him. That feeling of undeniable intrigue, making me want to know more about him. Then again, that feeling only really happens in cheesy movies. “Calli,” I finally said.

He nodded and grinned. “I’m Patrick,” he reciprocated, sticking out his hand to shake mine. I shook it cautiously, hoping there wasn’t any sticky coffee left on mine.

“I know who you are.”

He licked his lips. “Cool,” I waited for a moment as he looked like he was mulling things over, “I guess I’ll see you around.”

I nodded, slightly dumbstruck, watching him as he left the coffee shop. Even though I was there—mentally and physically—this situation was something I was having difficulty believing. I shrugged it off and turned back to the machine. At least he was better than the usual people that hit on me. It was definitely a positive push on such a miserable day.