Beans

I woke to sunlight forcing its way through my curtains. A glance at my clock revealed that it was 7:14, too early to get up. I rolled over and pulled my pillow over my face.

"Brooklyn," my mom cooed, suddenly appearing in the doorway. "Get up! Your interview is at nine, right? You need to eat breakfast and look presentable!"

"Mooooom," I groaned back, throwing my pillow at the door. She flicked my light on, yanked off my sheets, pressed play on my radio, and dashed from the room.

I moaned and rolled of of bed, hitting the ground with yet another agitated sound. Somehow my feet got underneath me, and the next thing I remember was realizing I was still wearing my socks in the shower.

I'm really not a morning person.

By the time I was dressed and sitting at the counter, I was mostly awake. My mother gave me a disapproving look as she bustled around the kitchen.

"Brooke, I think we need to talk about the morning situation."

I scooped some Lucky Charms and crossed my eyes.

"Brooklyn! I'm serious. You're 22. You should be able to get up on your own."

"Okay, I'll set an alarm."

She threw her hands in the air. "Alarms don't work! You know that."

I shrugged and sucked on a marshmallow.

She let out an exasperated sigh and slammed the fridge shut. Then her voice got real quiet like and she crossed her arms.

"Maybe you should think about getting a real job, hun. Being a writer isn't working out real well."

I pretended I couldn't hear her over the sound of my chewing and she quietly left the room.

I finished my cereal, grabbed my keys off the hook and prepared myself for starting my car.

First of all, my car is a total lemon. The paint is peeling and it swallows oil faster than I can afford to buy it. It's also rather particular about how it gets woken up. I call him "Joe" because it seems like a Joe.

I patted Joe on a mirror for good luck, and the mirror fell off. I pulled some duct tape from my purse and stuck it back on. Then I jumped in, hit the dashboard, cranked the key, and floored the gas. The engine grumbled a little, but didn't turn over. I repeated the process, pleased when it rumbled to life and stayed on the entire way to Starbucks.

I flung my bag over my shoulder, slid my sunglasses over my forehead, and strutted into the store. There was a long line, so I sat in the corner and pretended I was listening to music or something until everyone was gone.

"Are you Brooklyn?"

I looked up, sunglasses falling over my eyes. I adjusted them before responding.

"That's me."

"I'm Marty." I stood and made my way over to shake his hand. He emerged from behind the serving counter, revealing a beer belly and mismatched sneakers. "You're here for the interview?"

I nodded, wondering how someone could mismatch sneakers.

Marty cleared his throat and nodded. "Okay, question one; do you like coffee?"

"I sure do," I said.

"Good, you're hired. You can start right now. Pull a shot of espresso into this mug."

I looked around, deciding a metal lever with the label "espresso" over it was my best bet. I gripped the handle, and hung all my weight on it. It did nothing.

Marty shrugged. "It's a little rusty. Try again."

I propped my foot on the counter for extra power, and yanked as hard as I could. The espresso plopped into the cup.

Marty made an approving sound and nodded. "Okay, I'll e-mail you your training schedule, and we can get together to fill out any paperwork stuff. I'm not quite sure how this works, I'm kinda new here."

I nodded an okay, ordered a frappuccino, and headed home. My mother was waiting in the kitchen with a peanut butter and olive sandwich.

"Well? Did you get the job?"

I took the sandwich and ate half of it. "Yeah I did."

She let out an enormous sigh, took my frappuccino, and left the room. I finished my sandwich and went back to bed.