Juliette
I don't know why I let Kenji persuade me into coming to work in a coffeeshop with him. He had claimed that it was "energizing" both from the people he was surrounded by and the free drinks he consumed. What he had neglected to mention was the low pay, aching feet and smell of burnt coffee that seemed to follow me everywhere once my shift ended. I'm sick of it and it's only my third day.
A quick glance at the wall clock tells me that the morning has barely even begun, but already I can feel my mood getting worse. It's becoming increasingly difficult to keep a smile plastered on my face, and I'm so tired from studying late last night that "Kellys" are becoming "Keelys" and "Judes" are becoming "Jews" when I write their names on their cups. I think I might have accidentally referred to someone as a reproductive organ. The line just keeps growing; for every two customers served five more to join the line. I look down to my feet and blow out a breath, trying to get a moment's break before a man in a charcoal colored suit and aviators approaches me, gabbing on his phone . I look up at him and summon the best smile and cheeriest voice I can muster.
"Hi, what can I get-"
"Venti macchiato, no whip," he cuts me off cooly, barely glancing at me before going back to his conversation. I brush it off. Rude customers are a standard part of the job.
"And what's the-"
"Warner."
"Okay your total is-" he digs his wallet out and throws a ten on the counter before walking off. I roll my eyes and turn away. What was his name again? William? Warren? Warren sounds right and I quickly scrawl that on the cup before moving on to the next customer. Kenji hands me the drink just a couple of minutes later (I swear making coffee is his superpower) and I go over and set it on the pickup counter.
"Venti macchiato for Warren!" No one comes and I try again, yelling a bit louder and enunciating. Finally the guy in the suit comes, snatching the coffee off the counter.
"It's Warner," he snaps, glaring at me and storming off. By this time, I have had my fair share of spilled coffee and mean customers, and inside I snap. I go to Kenji, tell him I'm going on break and head into the back. Our "breakroom" isn't much of a room at all, just a couch and a microwave in a corner, but here at least, the deafening noise of the shop is muffled to a low buzz. I sink into the couch and bring my knees up to my chest.
Between classes and this job, I'm wondering if it's just too much. But I need the money and finding this job was difficult enough. There just doesn't seem to be a way around it and tears start to well up in my eyes at the thought of it. Kenji joins me a few minutes later, sitting down next to me.
"You okay, Juliette?" he asks softly. I shake my head no. He puts his arm around me and I lean into him. He's been my best friend since I had started my undergrad and now we were well into graduate school. We'd spent so much time together that he had almost become a staple in my life.
"It'll get easier, dealing with so many people and having most of them be awful. You just sort of tune it out."
"How did you do it?"
"Well, to be honest, if there was a customer that was particularly rude to me, like that last guy you had before break, I just spell their names the way Ithink they should be spelled."
"Oh yeah?" I say.
"Yep, and no matter what their reaction is, it's always worth it. That guy you helped comes in almost every morning. I would be happy to help you with some names for him. Trust me, I've thought of a few."
I smile. He always knows how to make me feel better.
The next day, I don my apron like it's armor forged of the strongest metal and face the day. It starts much like the previous one, with people herding around the door waiting for us to open. My stomach flutters a little when he opens the door and they all come stampeding in. It isn't until about an hour into my shift when the guy finally comes in. When he spots me, he gives me a look that is a mix of annoyance and boredom, the kind I imagine wealthy lords give to peasants in fairy tale books. We go through the same thing as we did the previous day, except this time I write the name that, as Kenji said, I think he deserves.
Warner
"What were you thinking?!" my father screams in my ear. After so many weeks of his morning calls to "check in", I have learned to tune out most of everything he says. It's not like he can do anything about it anyway. He has no bearing over my decisions since he retired and passed his company on to me. Not that this particular mistake has anything to with the company at all, which is a change of pace to what our conversations normally are.
"I just took one night to-"
"Dammit Aaron I raised you better than that!" I roll my eyes as he keeps going on. I had one night of fun two nights ago, but whoever his spy is this week must have been slow in reporting back to him, because he is just now yelling at me for it.
He is still going on by the time I enter the coffee shop, though by this point it's become a low buzz in the back of my mind. As I wait in line, I spot the girl who had helped me yesterday. How she can work in a hellhole like this and still have that smile on her face is beyond me. I should probably apologize to her for behaving the way I did yesterday (I really should learn how to deal with hangovers better) but I figure that this she's probably used to rude customers by now. She may not even remember be. At least I hope she doesn't.
When it's finally my turn, I approach her and she greets me in the same cheery (lovely) voice that she did yesterday. The fatigue that had been in her green eyes the day before is gone, and if I look closely enough I think I can see a hint of deviousness in them when she asks for my name. It's gone in an instant and she soon greets the person behind me.
I move out of the way and go to the pickup counter. It's so loud in here that I can barely hear my father, but at this point I'm so tired of his voice that I cut him off with an excuse that I'm about to enter a meeting. He's still yelling by the time I hang up. An Asian looking boy behind the counter comes up holding a cup, his head turned as he finishes conversation with a co-worker-not the pretty one-and calls out.
"Venti mac for-" he looks at the cup, and back at me, clearly battling laughter and losing.
"I think this might be for you," he says to me with a smirk and hands me the cup. I just stare at him for a moment, with what has to be a bemused expression crossing my face. But I take the cup anyway and leave. It's only when I've walked a couple of blocks that I see the name the girl wrote on my cup in girly, flowery handwriting.
Warthog.
Juliette
I could not have asked to for a more satisfied feeling when the guy walks in the a couple of days later looking furious when he sees me. After he had left yesterday, Kenji and I had gone to the back to let out all of the bottled up laughter. He was right: it was a release. I had gone home feeling freer than I had in weeks.
The guy-Warner I guess-comes up to the counter, and I'm ready for him. He doesn't have his sunglasses on, and even from here I can see that his eyes are a luminous green. If I had met him under different circumstances, I probably would have thought he was quite handsome.
"Welcome back! What can I get for you?" I say, trying not to let my smugness seep into my expression in response to his annoyed one.
"Don't you know already? You've taken my order multiple times now," he responds irritably.
I try not to roll my eyes. I had every intention of being nice to him today, I really did. I can understand when someone has had a bad day or two. I was going to spell his name right and everything. But if he can't handle a little joke, that's not my problem.
"I know, I just thought you might want to mix it up a little. Venti mac coming right up!" I grab a cup and write his name for the day on it.
"Also, my name is-"
"Next!" I call, ignoring him. That only serves to incense him more, and I can feel the heat of his glare as he moves over to the pickup counter. After a couple of more customers, I tell Kenji that I'm going on my break. I'm at the door leading to the backroom when I hear
"I AM NOT A WHINER."
Warner
Juliette.
I finally learned her name.
She infuriates and intrigues me at the same time.
Over the past few days, she's called me an array of names, from "wiener" to "wombat".I've found myself going into her shop, anticipating what she would come up with next, and being slightly disappointed on the days she wasn't there. I tried to be polite, to be apologetic for my actions but I found that I liked the back and forth, the fire in her eyes, the genuine smile when I said something particularly stupid.
I wanted to know her. I'd finally decided yesterday that the time was right to do something about it.
"Hey!" she greets as I walk up.
"Hi," I reply, giving her a small smile. I have to keep my voice from shaking.
"Venti macchiato as usual, got it," she says, pulling a cup from the stack.
"Actually I wanted something else," I say quickly. She glances up from writing on my cup, looking perplexed.
"Okay, then what would you like?" she asks slowly.
"What's your favorite drink? I'll take that." I inwardly curse; that sounded a lot cooler and less stupid in my head. She bites her lip in thought for a moment before smiling at me again.
"Alright, coming right up! To go?"
"For here."
I pay and sit down, looking through some emails while I wait. The Asian boy from a few days ago brings me my drink a few minutes later, glaring at me fiercely before going back behind the counter. I take a sip. It's a rich hot chocolate with cinnamon mixed in and a swirl of whipped cream on top. It's delicious. I take my time drinking it, even though I know I'm going to be late and when it's time to go, I write something on a napkin and leave it on the table for her to find.
The coffee shop has quieted down significantly by the time he leaves. I go to bus his table, picking up his mug and saucer before seeing that he has written something on the napkin that he had tucked under them.
"I think I've found my new usual," it says. Underneath it is all the variations of his name that I've used over the past few days, crossed out and scratched through, before finally settling on one name. Warner. I smile to myself when I see that he included one more thing: his phone number.