The Cafe

Wow, I was an edgy sonofabitch.

Eh, I'll leave both of the stories up here.

They're fun.

Dean M.H.C 180920, 1746 words, The Café

I own a small café at the end of a street.     

At 4am every morning, I walk into the café, walk behind the counter, switch on the lights and switch on the machines. I let them all warm up for a few minutes, sweeping the floor and wiping down the tables. The employees, a young man named Zack and two young ladies named Rebecca and Zoe, they will saunter in at a rubbered time between 5 to 6, usually with an apology if they’re late, but never early.

Once they take their places at the counter and the machines, that is when I take a short leave to the upper office. There is where I usually park myself to balance the books for about an hour, ensuring that everything was as it should be, before I relaxed for breakfast. After that, I would join Zack at the counter to make a perfect team of four. We would work until 11am, which then all four of us would take a long break until 1pm , which the we would work until 5pm.

This has been my routine for over ten years.

It was a blissful life, a constant flow of cash and benefits, with employees that come and go, every now and then having to handle the odd spiteful customer.

It was a life that was boring to most, but it was good enough for me.

I named it the Sweet Almonds, after our award-winning vanilla almond cake that earned us a place on the newspaper a few years ago.

Loyal customers, sometimes rowdy employees, sometimes rowdy customers, it was a good life.

It is all about the small things, you see.

Seeing a happy group of old men, sitting in their usual spot, watching as the sparse people walk by.

Seeing a group of annoying young ladies, buying a round of frothing coffee for their friends before they headed to class.

A shy and lonely young man, usually a customer with a taste that hinted at his deeper personality.

People-watching was one of those small things.

 

-0-

 

Every now and then, my mind begins to wander.

This is usually during our 2-hour break, between 11am to 1pm.

I would ruminate on the people that I had met in the morning, usually alone as the employees enjoy their lunch together.

I would take a nice walk. Boutiques, convenience stores, other cafés, sometimes the odd bookstore or tech shop every now and then. If you walked a bit more down the street, you would see a nice park that connected two different districts. One side was full of offices and clerks, the other side being mine. A duality of work and relaxation.

I would buy a bowl of noodles or a sandwich at a café with more savoury faire than mine, sit at one of the cold benches facing the office district. The smell of cut grass or the cold air was a nice change of pace from the warm coffee gas that was the usual.

I would eat slowly, chewing every piece of my meal as I watched the suited workers enter and leave the rotating glass doors, sometimes with one of my coffee cups in hand. I recognised some as cordial regulars, some as judgemental newcomers, and some as annoying pests.

Unfortunately, those pests are usually regulars, who secretly enjoy the coffee but show absolutely no care for the people that serve them it.

I spotted a middle-aged man, slightly younger than my age, wearing a blue tie that held one of my coffee cups. His face was gaunt and irritated, holding a medium coffee cup as he headed into the revolving doors.

But for a moment, his head turned towards me as I ate my noodles.

I swear that I saw him sneer.

A look on his face that held no respect for the likes of me.

Because to him, I was just a pathetic piece of trash, only worth to serve him a cup of brown liquid.

Nothing compared to an ugly saint like him, needing to work on charts and tables that are obviously far more incredibly complicated than owning a business.

Well, he’s drinking my coffee while pretending to be anything more than a cog in a machine.

-0-

 

Now, understand that I consider myself to be a very petty person.

I consider that most of humanity are petty people.

Insults usually last longer than any wound, that was what my parents always told me.

But I consider myself, rather arrogantly, to be a very, very, very petty person.

So, when I headed back to the café, I was seething.

For the entire day, in fact.

Seething with annoyance.

I had to let Zack take over the counter alone.

I gave him a few extra dollars an hour for that, of course.

So, I sat in my office, letting the itch in my head run its course.

Why did it bother me so much, you would ask me?

If I told you that I was once in their shoes, suffering in a job that I never loved nor would it ever love me, would you believe me?

If I told you that I was a petty little child, who grew up to be a petty young person, would you believe me?

If I told you that my parents had taught me to treat people right and anything else pissed me off, would you believe me?

If I told you that I was just that sensitive, would you believe me?

If I told you that you would never know, would you believe me?

 

-0-

The next day, I woke up a bit earlier than usual.

I headed to the market, a street beside my district.

I knew the old lady there, a kindly old lady that for the past ten years, I owed most of my success to.

I greeted her warmly as she was having her two sons help move her produce.

She looked sleepy, but her eyes were so wonderfully warm, like looking at a friend.

After passing her a couple of tens, she handed me three bags of almonds, one more than usual.

She smiled at me, thanking me for her patronage. She and I entered our usual duel of politeness and friendship, me insisting that I could not accept her generosity and she claiming that it was her pleasure, since we give her and her family free coffee whenever they come in.

Eventually I gave in, as I usually do, and I headed back to the café at precisely 4am.

I headed into the back and got to work.

I put the bags in the usual containers, but I picked a good half-bag full of almonds, enough for a full-sized cake, separating them for being as bitter as possible.

I raced against the clock, hoping that Zack, Rebecca or Zoe wouldn’t come in early, as I ground the almonds in one of the machines until a thin yellow oil came out.

I filtered it into a medium coffee cup as Zack, the earliest of them, came in with his usual sleepy splendour.

As I greeted the tired man, I told him that I would handle the counter for the day and that he could help the girls in the back, which he seemed to be rather happy about.

Well, he must have liked working here, considering that he’s my longest employee.

It almost made me feel bad knowing how I was incriminating him.

But, if I knew myself well enough, it wouldn’t be a problem.

There was no way I would get caught.

 

-0-

 

The man came in, right on schedule.

Cappuccino with two espresso shots, ordered with a muttering that exuded a sense of self-importance.

Now that he was within my range, I could see that the blue tie and suit that he was wearing was on a disgustingly overweight body. His hair was very clearly a wig, his eyes were small and beady, his voice a disgusting growl.

A person that no one would miss.

I gave him a smile and took a coffee cup from the stack.

However, I made sure that the timing of the stack was correct beforehand.

He was the 17^th customer in the morning, every day, for the past 3 years.

Sometimes 18^th, but he was the 17^th so many times it was almost fool proof.

I made sure that the bottom of the cup, which I glazed over with the yellow almond oil, was solid before I passed it to Zack behind me, who quickly did his barista work as the man sat at one of the tables to wait for his coffee.

I handled the rest of the customers with one hand behind my back. I kept an eye on the man, which I feared would suddenly look up from his phone to see the look in my eye, and another eye on Zack, hoping that he doesn’t accidentally lick the bottom of the cup, as unlikely as it would have been.

Once it was ready, I quickly called him on his way, faux apologising for the wait.

The man, arrogant as he usually was, took it without saying a word.

I watched as the fat bastard waddled out of my café, only choosing to breathe once he was out of it.

I turned to my next customer; a pair of young men that seemed to be irritated out of their minds.

As they rudely demanded their morning drug, I looked into their eyes and saw a pair of tired, hardworking students.

Nothing like that piece of trash.

So, I smiled, sincerely this time, and asked them for their desired addons with a newfound clarity in my mind.

-0-

That day, I sat at that bench again, eating a bowl of noodles again. I felt that it was appropriate.

I had counted my steps from the café. It should be around 12.30pm now, when the coffee cup is already long deep inside the trash, my accomplice completely done for.

I watched as the ambulance wheeled the comatose, blue-tied man into the back of the vehicle, the poor thin schmucks having to lift his obese body.

As I watched his heart stop before my eyes, I smiled and swallowed my first bite of noodles as I watched the frantic police question all those arrogant, man-child suits.

Ignoring me, a simple piece of trash who knew his place.