Desperation Devastation
Cappuccinos and Receptionists
"There you are!"
I turn around to find Alex, one of my best buddies, also running late for work. She was looking like she had a hurried morning, with an inside-out green singlet and the belt on her trademark black jeans wasn't buckled.
"Yay! I'm not the only one late!"
She nearly killed me with a hug then she stole the rest of my half-eaten cookie.
"What a nice greeting Miss Alexandra! You stole my cookie!"
She looked at me with an innocent expression, then grinned.
"We are united in the plight of getting to work late!" I shouted as I linked arms with Alex.
"Yay! To Starbucks we go!"
We started skipping towards the smell of roasted coffee beans and mochaccinos. Luckily, in our sugar-induced skipping session, we managed to get to work on time. I slipped on my green apron and took out my lip ring.
Thank God I took some form of hospitality course in High School, because without it I would never have gotten this job. And it also means I can make killer coffees. I hummed as I prepared a flat white, its always the matter of getting the coffee perfect, and doing it fast.
Mornings are always busy in Starbucks, because its the tightly-wound business workers getting their morning caffeine fix. They look and act quite the same, in a rush, pinstriped and occaisionally knocking over something with their leather suitcases.
Yet in the midst of the confusion a man caught my eye. He was tired-looking, black-clad with shoulder length black hair.
"Cappuccino please." He mumbled.
I made a cappuccino and gave it to him. He looked up for a brief moment then handed me the right amount of money.
I put the money in the till and looked up to see if he was still there, he wasn't. He looked rather interesting.
"Hello?!"
"Huh?" I snapped out of my daze.
Another office worker, receptionist probably.
"I said I wanted a short black, come on already! I have a meeting in exactly 5 minutes."
Or not.
"Oh, sorry..."
The grotesque numerical figure, 9, popped into my conscience, followed by the pang of weariness. Great, now my mind is telling me how many more hours I have to work...
I turn around to find Alex, one of my best buddies, also running late for work. She was looking like she had a hurried morning, with an inside-out green singlet and the belt on her trademark black jeans wasn't buckled.
"Yay! I'm not the only one late!"
She nearly killed me with a hug then she stole the rest of my half-eaten cookie.
"What a nice greeting Miss Alexandra! You stole my cookie!"
She looked at me with an innocent expression, then grinned.
"We are united in the plight of getting to work late!" I shouted as I linked arms with Alex.
"Yay! To Starbucks we go!"
We started skipping towards the smell of roasted coffee beans and mochaccinos. Luckily, in our sugar-induced skipping session, we managed to get to work on time. I slipped on my green apron and took out my lip ring.
Thank God I took some form of hospitality course in High School, because without it I would never have gotten this job. And it also means I can make killer coffees. I hummed as I prepared a flat white, its always the matter of getting the coffee perfect, and doing it fast.
Mornings are always busy in Starbucks, because its the tightly-wound business workers getting their morning caffeine fix. They look and act quite the same, in a rush, pinstriped and occaisionally knocking over something with their leather suitcases.
Yet in the midst of the confusion a man caught my eye. He was tired-looking, black-clad with shoulder length black hair.
"Cappuccino please." He mumbled.
I made a cappuccino and gave it to him. He looked up for a brief moment then handed me the right amount of money.
I put the money in the till and looked up to see if he was still there, he wasn't. He looked rather interesting.
"Hello?!"
"Huh?" I snapped out of my daze.
Another office worker, receptionist probably.
"I said I wanted a short black, come on already! I have a meeting in exactly 5 minutes."
Or not.
"Oh, sorry..."
The grotesque numerical figure, 9, popped into my conscience, followed by the pang of weariness. Great, now my mind is telling me how many more hours I have to work...