His eyes grow softer when they catch mine. “God bless you.”
“Don’t mention it.” I reach around his back, giving it a pat. “Stay safe.”
“You too.” He grabs his lone backpack by his foot, and shuffles away.
I pivot and marvel at the most magnificent building I’ve ever seen.
My Coffee Loft.
two
Portia Grant
I ogle the open Coffee Loft pantry; all my morals are being tested.
One Oreo.
My favorite snack. The only thing better than an Oreo, is an Oreo with milk. Or ice cream. Yeah, an Oreo ice cream blended treat. You could add sprinkles on top, too . . . like for kids. I giggle to myself as I’m almost thirty and clearly past the age of sprinkles unless Ineedto eat them. Then I would. Like if someone put a gun to my head and growled, “eat these colorful sprinkle treats, or else.”Of course, I’m going to eat them in that situation.Sprinkles are an option. For other people. A vibrantly colorful and delicious option.
My stomach churns ungracefully, reminiscent of those old-fashioned hand churned-ice-cream makers, but with the handle off kilter and in need of some fresh grease in the gears. It painsin the worst way, making a dying noise, reminding me of all the meals I didn’t eat today.
We use Oreos in our blended drinks, and I opened this pack a few days ago. I eyeball the Oreo. One cookie isn’t enough to make a drink.Besides,it’s likely a tad stale. Not spoiled rotten, just approaching its use by date.
I’ll have to throw it out in the morning.
I check over my shoulder, expecting someone to stop me. Of course, I am solo. Being short staffed today, I barista’d without a dinner break. A grumble erupted from my stomach, the call of a blue whale reverberating all around.
I eye the trash can in the corner, still overstuffed, waiting for me to tie the bag and take it out back. It didn’t really have room for an Oreo.
I’d need a fresh trash bag for one lonely Oreo. That is wasteful. If I did put it in the trash, it might even attract rats. New York has a huge problem with rats, and I don’t want to contribute to that. Would it really be stealing if it was going in the trash in the morning?
My fingers nearly tremble as I snatch it. Saliva musters at the tip of my tongue. Adrenaline surges, as I have never stolen anything in my life.
This obviously isn’t stealing.
I nibble off the edge with my front teeth.A tad soft on the outside, but mostly still crunchy.
A childish giggle escapes from the back of my throat as I unscrew the two sides and scrape off the creamy filling with my teeth, melting it on my tongue. I relish every second of this drop of heaven. This cookie was a lot like me. The perfect metaphor to describe the state of my life. Although I had developed my first row of crows-feet in the corners of my eyes, I was in my prime on the inside. Not expired at all. Certainly, still worthy of a fairytale love story.
I replace the two halves together and bite the cookie, taking most of it into my mouth. Man, I’m starving. I hardly chew it.So good.My churning stomach screeches out for more.
Really, I deserve a free Oreo.
It is the least this place could do for me. I’d worked since noon without a break, which isillegal. But short staffed or not, I’m not about to let our customers down—I have too great of a work ethic for that even if I hate this place a little more each day.
This coffee house had always been a family-owned shop. Recently the owners retired, selling out to some new guy who is transitioning the store to a Coffee Loft franchise. At first, we were all excited, thinking we’d get big raises. Coffee Loft has the best coffees, but right after the sale went through, the jerk owner sent an email stating nobody was allowed to get more than twenty hours a week. That meant we had to work every shift by ourselves. He also said something about a new pay scale that would be applied after an in-person evaluation is completed. That didn’t sound like big raises to me. Everyone except me, and one newer gal, Jade, had quit. They didn’t want to have to prove they knew how to do a job they’d already been doing.
I’m confident in my abilities. Since I was the person running this place for the last year, he needs me. When everyone quit, he gave me special permission to work as much as I needed to until he gets here. Since I worked so hard, I should get a huge raise. Add in the corporate insurance, and it is too hard to say no—at least for right now.
I have goals. I’m not going to work hereforever.
Because I really hate it here.
I ball my hand into a fist and pound on my chest, as I nearly choke on that scathing thought.
I can’t even imagine the crow’s feet I’d have after working this slave labor job forever, or even five more years. That’s why I’m devoting all my free time to building my own match-makingbusiness. Sure, it’s not making a profitnow, but things take time. And until it takes off, I must put in the long hours here to be able to keep my apartment.
Nope. I’m only staying long enough to get my match-making business in the black. Another year, tops. I shove the last of the Oreo into my mouth.
