“Sorry, buddy,” I shake my head clear and make eye contact with my teenage sidekick. “I need your help with a big order. Twenty five pumpapocalpyses.”
“T-t-t-t-” he starts panicking.
“We can do it. There aren’t any customers at the register right now, so we’ll just get started and work together, okay?”
Wow, so many blinks of his big blue eyes, peeking out from behind jet-black-dyed hair, in just a few seconds. Poor guy is short circuiting like the display case behind him.
“Okay,” I answer for him. No need to make him talk on top of the pressure. “First is the cardboard, you start assembling the boxes, then put them in a line and fill them up. You’ve done it before.”
Never twenty-freaking-five of them,but I don’t mention that part. He nods and almost melts with gratitude. Clear directions, and a task that doesn’t require talking. Ideal.
But my phone buzzes again. Janie’s urgent meds are going to have to wait. The pharmacy is a few doors down, so it’s not absurd for her to randomly ask. On a normal, nearly-dead day, I would just ask Mrs. Newman to hang with DJ for ten minutes so I could run a quick errand. But today is no longer normal.
Ding!
The doorbell chimes over the entrance.
“Door!” DJ squeaks.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to him and also to myself.
It’s not Steven yet, thank goodness. But it’s a stranger. Meaning I can’t do my practiced We Need a Minute Smile with a wink. This lady is probably a tourist, hopefully one who leaves glowing reviews on Yelp and Google.
She walks right up and starts ordering.Okay, then.At least that means I don’t have to initiate the conversation, a skill I’m still working on.
“Yeah I need uh…well, hmm. See this is the problem with mom and pops, I don’t know what I need. I guess can you tell me how your coffees relate to Starbucks coffees? Like is a large a venti and…”
She goes on, frowning up at the menu board and voicing all of her questions and concerns. So far, she doesn’t appear to be a fan of what we offer. So hopefully she’snota review girlie.
She brought in a palpable, unpleased vibe with her, so now DJ has started dropping boxes, which only irks the woman further. I can feel myself and my one employee filling with anxiety. The little area behind the register is expanding with terror like an overfilled balloon.
By the time she stops what I think most would agree is a rant, I’m sweating. And I’ve totally lost track of what she’s said. Was there a question in there?
“Here,” I say too quietly, gesturing to the three cups in front of her with a smile I hope is not a grimace.
“No, but, like, the milk?”
“Sorry, I missed the milk question?” I try.
She looks around in disgust, “Do you have soy here?”
“Yes,” I smile with relief.
“Okay, with soy then.”
A soy what? What did she say?
Plop!
Another box down.
Ding!
“Door!” DJ says.
Buzzgoes my pocket.
A man enters, head ducked, with a bigger man behind him. More strangers.
