'In trouble? Why would you think that?'
'Sarah thought you looked scared when you came in,'
I tell her.
Em laughs. 'Scared, no. Irritated, yes. I hate coming in early. Especially when I'm not getting paid for it. And I had wanted to get some studying done before work.' Em is taking advanced everything. She wants to be prelaw at DePaul University next year and she's very serious about keeping up her 3.8 GPA. I pull out a box of whipped cream lids from a cabinet to restock up front.
'So what did Derek want, then?' I ask.
'Oh, you're not going to believe this. He wants me to be the assistant manager! Like I have any bloody time to be the assistant manager!' Em is not British, but adopts a British accent whenever she gets really mad. It started shortly after we saw Bridget Jones's Diary.
'Really? That's kind of neat.' I wonder why he didn't ask me. I have nothing but time. Not to mention I've been working here longer than Em.
'Well, I told him no,' she says. 'The extra two dollars an hour is not worth the headaches.'
Raise? I could use a raise. 'Hey, are you okay up here for a minute?'
'Sure. Where are you going?'
'To talk to Derek,' I say, and give her a wink. Time to make things happen.
2
'All right, ladies , stop your yapping and listen up,' Derek says as he approaches the coffee counter. Ever the charmer, that one is. Sarah and Em both glare at Derek, arms folded across their chests. Derek is a mid-thirties American Rock Star contestant wannabe (seriously ... he tried out and didn't make it on the show), with a shaved head, tat sleeves, and the beginnings of a beer belly. 'I'd like you to meet your new assistant manager.' I step out from behind Derek and give the girls jazz hands. Ta da!
'Omigod Jane! That is so cool!' Sarah squeals.
'Totally!' Em agrees. I'm so glad she's not mad that I went and talked to Derek right after she turned down the job.
'Yeah, yeah, somebody's got to do it,' Derek interjects. 'Your faith in me is underwhelming, Derek,' I say, and pat him on the back. He shoots me daggers with his eyes before heading to his office. Okay, the pat might have been a bit much. Just because we are both management now doesn't mean we should touch. As soon as Derek is out of earshot we all laugh.
'Seriously, that's great, Jane. I'm glad you took the job,' Em says as she hugs me.
Did I mention that she is the greatest best friend ever?
'What are we celebrating?' Gavin, my absolute favorite regular, approaches the counter.
'Hey, Gav! I've just been crowned assistant manager,' I tell him.
'That's great!' He reaches over the counter and hugs me, too. I'm getting all the love today. 'Congrats!'
'Hey, I've got Gavin,' I say to Em and Sarah. 'The usual, right?' Gavin comes in almost every day and orders the same thing, a medium iced vanilla latte.
He nods, already handing me the $3.89 in cash. I mark the plastic cup, slide it over to Sarah to make, and lean toward Gavin on my elbows.
'So, what's new with you?' I ask.
'Not too much,' he says with a slight hesitation.
'Well, that isn't totally true. Anne and I broke up yesterday.'
'Ooh, I'm sorry. Are you okay?'
'Yeah. Actually I am pretty okay with it. Our relationship had run its course. I'm too young to be tied down anyway, right?' He laughs.
'Sure! That's a good attitude, Gav. I'm glad you aren't letting it bring you down.'
'Medium iced vanilla latte,' Sarah bellows, no more than three feet away from us.
'That's my call,' he says, picking up his drink and popping in the straw. 'See you tomorrow.' He takes a sip and heads for the door.
'Later.' I smile. 'Did you hear that?' I ask, stepping over to the girls, who have begun refilling the cookie and coffee cake trays in the glass showcase.
'Yeah, it's too bad,' Em says. 'He's a good guy.'
'He is,' I agree, and wipe down the pick-up counter with a wet white rag. 'We should totally set him up with someone.' I mentally list all the cool girls that I know.
Small Decaf Soy Sugar-free Hazelnut Caffe Latte Yuppie, her-kubby-is-off-running-an-empire-while-she-is- teaching-the-baby-Latin-with-low-fat-wheat-alphabet-pretzels, yoga-doing-superwoman, stay-at-home-mommy drink. She's fit, in style, and toting a three-hundred-dollar designer diaper bag on her shoulder and a lackadaisical jour-month-old in a BabyBjorn on her front. She's uber-smart, probably has a master's in something but has given up her high-profile career to focus on the chosen one, who is already showing superior dexterity with the way he is grasping his Baby Einstein flash cards.
'That will be two ninety-five,' Sarah tells the customer as she marks the order on the paper cup and slides it my way. 'Think you can stop writing in your notebook long enough to make this drink?'
'Already on it,' I say, and toss the notebook under the counter once again. I pour a shot of decaf espresso into the plastic cup, add three pumps of sugar-free hazelnut syrup, and begin foaming the soy milk to pour on top.
'Small decaf soy sugar-free hazelnut caffe latte,' I call out as I hand the woman her drink and make the expected cooing noises to the baby.
'So, are you ever really going to tell me what's in the notebook?' Sarah asks.
'It's work-related,' I respond. 'It's part of my assistant-manager duties. Derek just didn't want me to talk about it before.' Okay, I'm totally lying now, but Sarah doesn't have to know that. How do I explain to her what I am doing? I don't think I can. About three months ago I was really bored at work and started doodling in my notebook.
This woman came in and ordered a large caramel frappycap and it just sort of hit me that she SEEMED like the large-caramel-frappycap type. Not so current with fashion, kinda frumpy, no clue where the gym is, doesn't mind the five hundred calories in the drink. Like, I could see her somewhere else, outside of Wired Joe's, and know that was her drink. It's a 'you are what you drink' philosophy. So I've been documenting people's drinks–all kinds of people. Young and old, skinny and fat, blue-collar and white-collar. It's become my little project.
'Ohhhhhh!' Sarah says, and I can see a look of respect come over her face. God, I am so bad. I glance at Em and she has a 'you are so full of crap' look on her face. The glass door opens and we are blasted with the cold air again.
'Hey,' I tell Sarah and Em, 'I'll be right back. I have to grab a sweater.' I race to the break room and grab my faux-fur-trimmed hoodie vest. Doesn't exactly go with the Wired Joe's ensemb', but I'm freezing. I walk back up to the front and see Sarah engaged in conversation with a short (maybe five-three?) slim brunette in her early twenties.
She's pretty cute. Smart and simple. Nice style–no thong peeking out of her pants or other fashion disasters. Maybe a medium cappuccino? I race back up to the espresso machine and ask Sarah, 'Can I get a drink started?'
'Yeah, this is my friend Simone. She wants a medium dry cappuccino.'
Ooh, I was close! She just wants an extra foamy cup. I start to foam the milk for the drink. Friend, huh? Hmm ... what goes well with a medium dry cappuccino? Maybe a medium iced vanilla latte? I smile, and a plan forms in my mind.
