"Yesterday it only cost me $2.61! Now you're telling me it costs $2.83?"
I inwardly groaned, not wanting to get into yet another fight with a customer regarding prices. The company had just implemented price increases on almost every item we sold, resulting in some very angry customers. "I'm sorry, sir, but we have no control over the prices. We were told by the company to raise prices."
The man sneered. "Oh, because you aren't getting paid enough as it is?"
"Sir, this isn't going to increase my salary. If you have a problem, I suggest you write a letter to our headquarters."
"Don't get smart with me, punk! It's people like you who are bleeding hard-working folks like me dry!"
I stood there, letting the irate man verbally abuse me, while musing over the fact that, if he just bought a bag of coffee at the grocery store and brewed it himself every morning, he would be saving money. Such logic tends to escape most people, though.
He eventually stopped bitching long enough to toss me a fifty dollar bill – oh, yes, he was really being bled dry – and I quickly handed over the change along with a paper cup for him to get coffee from out basins of the day's brew, located at the back of the café. He glanced inside as though he expected me to have spit in it, gave me a curt nod coupled with a scowl, and strode off, mumbling about unfair life was. Yeah, buddy, tell me about it.
"What's really funny," I told Nora as we sat down for our company ordered fifteen minute break, "is that tomorrow he'll be back here again to be 'bled dry' all over again."
She glanced down into her own cup of coffee. "I swear they must be sneaking nicotine into this stuff, the way people keep coming back." She took a swig, making a slightly sour face. "It tastes like every other coffee I've ever tasted."
"Don't let Ass-Kisser Al hear you say that. He'll tell Marty, and then you'll be on drip duty until you can correctly identify each brew in a blind tasting."
She groaned, recalling the last time she was forced on drip duty. It required the worker to transport each basin of the day's brew back and forth between the customer station in the back of the store and the three huge coffee machines located behind our counter. The basins, when completely filled with boiling hot coffee, weighed nearly forty pounds. Sure, that doesn't sound too bad, but when you factor in having to walk back and forth behind a crowded counter, often times having to stand there, waiting for customers to clear away from the drip station, it becomes an exhausting work-out, especially for someone like Nora who weighs about 100 pounds.
"I fucking hate drip duty. Last time, I was carrying a filled basin and Paul said, 'Oh, here, let me help,'" she said, referring to a co-worker of ours who looked as though he spent two hours pumping iron in a gym. "So I was thinking he was going to take the basin for me and carry it. But no! He just fills the coffee maker to make another batch and leaves me to lug that thing to the station! I mean, I was grateful for the help, but couldn't he have been a gentleman and carried the stupid thing for me?"
"I thought you hated when guys treat girls like weaklings."
She made a face. "I like it when it means I don't have to carry something half my weight that slops hot coffee about and spills on me."
"Hey, five minutes, guys!" Al told us as he passed by. "I'm watching the clock!"
Al was the Assistant Supervisor, working under Marty, our Manager. Al was the kind of guy who didn't really aspire to be anything more than a Starbucks worker. He lived and breathed for the company, willing to give up anything to benefit the Starbucks name. He would never hesitate to report someone who wasn't living up to Starbucks' standards and who even had one disparaging remark about the coffee franchise.
In short, he really needed to get laid.
"We're watching," I assured him. He responded with a skeptical glance before walking off to berate one of the other workers for not properly restocking the paper towels in the bathroom.
"So what ever happened between you and that cutie from last week?"
"Uh, you saw everything that happened. He came in, made his order, and left."
"And you didn't try to track him down?" she asked incredulously.
"Using what? I don't have telekinetic powers, you know."
"You could put an ad in the paper. 'Snitch the Latte Boy seeking Caramel Frappuccino.'"
"That sounds so…pathetic."
"Come on, are you really going to tell me that you haven't been thinking about him?"
"Nora, I only talked to him for, like, a minute."
"It was a minute and twenty-one seconds, actually, and you were giving him those goo-goo eyes the entire time."
I pouted, muttering, "I do not make goo-goo eyes…"
The truth was that I'd been thinking about my mystery customer on and off for the past week, wondering if he would return. I wasn't obsessing over him or losing sleep over the entire thing, but I did feel slightly embarrassed that I'd become so ensconced with a man who I only knew by his drink order. Sure, anyone who ordered a caramel frappuccino was obviously awesome – I can always tell what kind of person someone is by their choice of Starbucks drinks – but that's all he was; he was the tall caramel frappuccino with a pumpkin cinnamon muffin (which was only based on my recommendation). You can't really build a healthy relationship off that alone.
"Break's over!" Al announced cheerily. I think he secretly took pleasure in our pain.
Nora and I groaned to each other and pulled ourselves to our feet. It was only by chance that I glanced up at that very moment, looking out the window at the very moment he walked by. It was him! It was Tall Caramel Frappuccino! He was walking by the window in a light jacket with what looked to be a guitar case strapped on to his back. I could see little white earplugs secured snugly within his ears and his head was bobbing as he walked by, completely unaware of the fact that I was staring slack-jawed at him from inside the building.
"Snitch?" I heard Nora as in bewilderment as I dashed to the window, banging my hands against it to get his attention. When that didn't work I rushed out the door, on to the sidewalk, and gently grabbed his shoulder. In hindsight, that wasn't such a smart move considering the huge case situated on his back. At my touch, he jerked around and I took a hit to the face, stumbling back and falling ungracefully to my ass.
"Can I help you?" he asked, pulling the earplugs out. When I looked up at him, I saw his eyes widen and a sweet smile play on his lips. "Snitch the Latte Boy?" he asked as he held out a hand to help me up.
"Guilty," I said sheepishly, taking his hand and pulling myself up to my feet.
"Oh, jeez! Did I hit you?"
"I'm fine. Trust me, I've had worse. I didn't mean to startle you…I just saw you walking by and…well, you hadn't been here in a while and I thought you might be hankering for a caramel frappuccino or a pumpkin cinnamon muffin…or something."
He flashed me a smile. "I hope you haven't taken offense to my absence. It's just that Starbucks can be expensive, so I can only treat myself every now and then to the sweet delicious faux coffee drink."
"Well, I think you're due for another faux coffee drink. My treat," I said. "And I get an employee discount, so don't worry about the money or anything."
"Do you always offer to buy Starbucks for people, or am I just special?" he asked with a playful glint in his eyes.
I wasn't sure which response would sound less creepy, so I told him the truth. "You're definitely special."
"Just what a guy wants to hear! Okay, Snitch the Latte Boy, I accept your invitation."
"Snitch! What the heck do you think you're doing?" I think Al has some sort of built-in radar that lets him know when he can ruin things. "Did you not hear me tell you that your break was over?"
"I heard, Al," I said monotonously. He was behind me, so I could safely roll my eyes, an action that did not go unnoticed by the gorgeous man before me.
"Actually, sir, your wonderful employee here has convinced me to sample one of your wonderful products," he said without missing a beat. "You should give him a raise for his fantastic salesmanship!"
Al's pursed lips and narrowed eyes indicated to me that a raise was not going to happen at any time in the near future. Still, he seemed to have bought the guy's explanation of why I was outside and not behind the register and his anger seemed to have abated. Without another word, he beckoned me to go inside and get back to work.
"Thanks for that," I whispered as I held the door open for the man.
"Hey, it's the least I could do."
"So, uh, what's your name?"
"Nathan…but everyone calls me Skittery."