TO: KURT (6:26AM)
I'm being tortured. Please come save me?
So maybe I was being a bit over dramatic, but I did feel like I was being tortured. The smell of coffee and freshly-baked pastries was killing me, partially because I was tired from waking up so early for a new job, and partially because I was starving because I skipped breakfast. Mostly starving.
If there was ever anything I hated more than being tortured with food I couldn't eat, it was waking up before the sun came up. Not really saying I got to "sleep in" however, because with a roommate like Kurt Hummel, waking up after 7:30AM was not really an option. ever. even on saturdays.
It was my first day at my new job, though, and in Rachel Berry's book, first impressions are very important. I figured I was making a good impression so far, with my being there at the crack of dawn, and my shining enthusiasm despite feeling like I could faint any moment from a mixture of exhaustion and hunger.
I had a feeling that Ashley, the shop's owner, liked me though. She was a really sweet lady, about mid forites with blue eyes and short, black hair. She was the one who interveiwed me. She told me about how just she and her daughter used to run the shop years ago, until her cancer relapsed, and her daughter went off to college. She said they almost lost the place, but when she got better and could run it full time again, they managed to save it. She said I reminded her a lot of her daughter, who apparently doesn't visit much anymore. She even hugged me that morning.
She had come out with a dozen croissants earlier (which made me whimper a little because they smelled so good, and I had the slight urge to take the plate and run out the door with it), and had smiled and said "So busy this morning," with a smile and wink.
It was sarcasm, clearly, because in the hour and a half I'd been here, I'd only served one customer.
A part of me wished it was a bit busier. It would have given me something to do.
I was so incredibly bored. The lack of buisness did, however, give me many opportunities to text Kurt and let him know I hadn't committed homicide/suicide yet.
-NEW MESSAGE-
FROM: KURT (6:29AM)
Drama Queen.
I wasn't exactly sure if I should be offended. I could have very easily actually been being tortured, and he completely ignored what could have been a genuine cry for help.
In his defensive, I was a drama queen. Also the odds of me being actuallytortured in a small New York City coffee shop were slim to only-in-a-bad-horror-movie.
TO: KURT (6:29AM)
Rude. I revoke your company having privileges.
If I knew Kurt at all, I knew what the reply to that would be, but I sent the text anyway.
-NEW MESSAGE-
oh god.
FROM: KURT (6:30AM)
too late ;)
Figured. One does not simply revoke Kurt's company having privileges.
As soon as 6:45 hit, the place was packed. For the first few minutes, I thought I might have a panic attack. All I had to do was take orders and man the register (and pass out a pastry now and then), but it just felt like there was a never ending line of people.
While I felt pretty sorry for myself, I felt even more sorry for the girl who actually had to make the coffee.
After about 25 minutes chaos, it began to slow again. I was informed that there would be an even worse rush in about half an hour, but that the rest of the day would be somewhat peaceful. I was not looking forward to what they meant by "even worse" rush.
I took a moment to relax (barely), and went to text Kurt, but thought better of it, after remembering that he had "company". I had half a mind to text him anyway, and tell him that if I found another pair of my high heels is his bedroom, someone was going to die. Mostly jokingly. Mostly. I didn't, though. I didn't want to give him any ideas. I also didn't want to make him angry and get locked out of the apartment... again.
"Help yourself honey." Ms Ashley insisted. Her voice seeming to come out of nowhere. I must have been staring at the croissants again, but god those were the most glorious words my ears had ever heard.
"I have a fresh batch coming out right now for the next wave of folks, so have as many as you'd like." I felt like my donkey fetuses had been answered, although I hadn't actualy prayed for anything.
Thankfully, for the next 15 minutes, no customers decided to ruin my face stuffing session. While my mouth was busy chewing, my mind was busy developing a plot to kidnap Ms. Ashley and force her to live in my kitchen.
By the time the "even worse" rush started, I was full and ready to kick this job's ass.
Around 9:30, I was sure that I had earned a ten minute break, at least. After serving what felt like hundreds of pretentious hipster kids, I was ready to violently murder anyone else who ordered something like a "small mocha lite with skim whip frap", and then proceeded to take a picture of it with their smart phone. Seriously, what the hell?
The morning rush was over for the most part, and the only customers here were a few older ladies sitting at tables sipping their coffee, and going on about their brand new grand-babies.
I sat down at a table near the window closest to the door, relaxed for the first time all day, and just watched the city move through the old shop window. I started thinking- about how I had longed to live here for so long while I was back in Lima, and how New York really was all I'd hoped it would be. This city was extraordinary. Living here and graduating from NYU with my best friend was extraordinary. I had accomplished so much already- and woah, I was just getting started.
I looked out into the streets, that were a bit busy for this time of morning, and kind of just... people watched.
I was forming certain people into characters and giving them backgrounds and stories. A lady passed who was wearing all black everything, and had sunglasses and looked incresingly shady, and I concluded that her name must be Evanna, and she was an undercover Russian spy, obviously trying to stay hidden from someone. Robert, (who was obviously a successful business man because he talked very loudly on his iPhone, and had a nice suit and cool shades) was a lawyer who defended only the richest of clients, and hadn't lost a case yet.
People watching was one of my favorite past-times. It always seemed to give me inspiration to write when I was in a funk., and it was fun.
I needed to people watch more often, seeing as how I was in the middle of a huge writing funk. It was a my passion, but I hadn't written anything in almost three months, and Kurt was almost ready to call my dads and stage an intervention, or take me to a doctor of some kind, something. Truth is, I just didn't have anything to write about. I was already graduated, so I didn't have school to focus on. Now I had this job for some hopeful inspiration, but god knows mankind doesn't need another poem/short story about falling in love in a coffee shop, blah blah blah.
The door bell rang, and even though it was probably the end of my break (and then some), I ignored it and continued to stare out of the window, still thinking and creating characters for the occasional interesting looking person.
Whoever walked in was wearing waaaaaay too much perfume.
After only seconds of them being in there, the smell of flowery perfume had already overpowered the smell of coffee.
I looked up, expecting a lady who was older than god, probably with a cane.
Instead, I took in the sight of a the back of (what looked like) a fairly young girl at the counter, holding... flowers. Well, um... that explained the smell.
She stood there patiently, until Ms. Ashley came to the counter, and walked back into the kitchen with herl. The smell of flowers lingered.
I just sat there, a bit confused, but before I could create a character in my head, Ms. Ashley came back out with the flowers. But the girl didn't follow.
I looked in that direction for a minute or two, watching Ashley fiddle with the flowers until they were positoned just right, and waiting for the girl to leave the kitchen, but she never did.
Alright, I needed to investigate. My break was over, anyway.
Ms. Ashley was still messing with the flowers, and I just slipped behind her and peaked into the kitchen. The girl was sitting at a small table, eating something delicious looking, she had on a pale blue dress and a white cardigan. Her hair was short and blonde, and that's all I could see with her back facing me. It looked like she was reading something. ugh, I wanted to see her face.
"Her name is Quinn."
I froze. My sneaking was obviously not that sneaky.
Trying to pretend like I didn't know who she was talking about, I collected myself and choked out a "huh?" in reply.
Ms. Ashley smiled and pointed to the kitchen. "Her name is Quinn, and her grandmother owns the flower shop down the street."
The character was forming in my head already.
"The flowers started when I relapsed," she continued, "and they just never stopped." She was looking at the flowers and smiling even more than before.
Stargazer lilies. They really were beautiful flowers. In fact, I was convinced that they were the prettiest lilies I'd ever seen.
Ms. Ashley went on with her story.
"She makes all the arrangments herself, ya know. No two are ever the same," Ms. Ash trailed off, walking into the kitchen momentarily.
This character, Quinn, was becoming more interesting in my head by the second.
Ms. Ash came back with another batch of croissants, looking prepared to finish her story. The lady loved to talk, not that I was complaining.
"She brings them by at 9:45AM sharp every single Monday, like clockwork. She's never been late."
Quinn- the punctual, tall, blonde who has an obvious knack for flower arrangments and picking flattering dresses.
I decided that it was probably time for me to say something, too. Not that Ashley would have a problem with doing all the talking for me.
"So she keeps bringing them, even though you're not sick anymore?"
She smiled at me softly, before sliding open the little door to the glass display where the rest of the pasties were, and placing the new plate of croissants there.
The last batch of croissants had been attacked by the earlier crowd and were all gone. boo for me.
She wiped her hands, and put the empty plate away before she answered.
"She says that eveyone deserves a Monday pick-me-up. Receiving the flowers is mine, arranging and giving them to me must be hers."
Okay wow. So Quinn- the punctual, tall, blonde who is super pretty from the back and proabably even prettier from the
front. Her hobbies include arranging unbelievably pretty flowers, and curing the world's Monday Blues, one middle-aged New York City coffee shop owner at a time.
"She sounds really sweet," I mentioned, smiling and concocting possible backgrounds for this Quinn character in my head. I was also running through many possible faces for her.
"She really is."
Ashley went back to the kitchen, and when I glanced at the table Quinn had been sitting at, she was gone. Needless to say, I was a bit disappointed that I still didn't see her face. I guessed that there was an exit in the kitchen, and concluded that it would prove very handy whenever I chose to make my escape...
The doorbell rang then, and oh god, I almost cried.
