Karen-- June 2002
I must have been crazy or drunk or something when I had agreed to fill in for my sister at the coffee shop she worked at-- just for a few weeks. Granted, she had a broken ankle and couldn’t exactly maneuver steaming pots of coffee on crutches, but days like this--
Basically, I was in between jobs and looking for work. Totally awful excuse, but it was definitely the truth. The last decently paid job I had was Burger King in the eleventh grade. Since then, let’s just say I hadn’t had the best luck with too many of my bosses. It wasn’t my fault I was always distracted.
I texted my boyfriend, Greg, during my break. He asked how much money I’d made so far and I replied with a big fat zero. I hopped down off the barstool with an obscenely hot non-fat latte scorching my hands after it had dripped. Great. And I wiped my hands off on my pants leg without thinking. Attractive.
I stood over the decaf urn, waiting and waiting and waiting for the pot to fill up. It amazed me that they only had one running pot of decaf coffee, as opposed to six regular ones. I was just bold enough to ask, next time I got the chance.
There came my sister, crutches and all, stopping by to critique my work. Her work? Her replacement? I didn’t understand her most of the time, especially when Mocha Marlie’s was involved. A few weeks of a broken ankle had turned into over a month, and she was getting restless. It was like her proudest achievement, working here. Granted, she was seventeen.
“Julie?” I said, approaching her in the doorway, hands on hips. I was trying to look flustered and busy, trying not to be upstaged by my little sister. The sad part was that she was, and always would be, a better waitress than me.
“What are you doing here?” I said.
She looked at me like I was dumb. “You know it’s Triple Mocha Monday, Karen. I always come in for a cup of the special. What is the special, by the way?”
She was testing me. I didn’t know the special. I didn’t even know there were specials. God, I was pissed. She smiled with her little sister grin that had won her many arguments with Mom and Dad.
“There are no specials today. They decided to, er, not have them? So I’m thinking maybe really that you should leave,” I said easily, like I was the best liar in the world.
Luckily, she didn’t fight it. “Okay. Whatever. Mom’s taking me to the doctor to get my cast off. See ya.” I knew she didn’t believe me, either.
She left the shop with a loud jangle of the bells on the door and a wave out the window of her Beetle that she had just bought herself with money she’d been saving.
Oh, man. She was seventeen, for crying out loud! I rode the bus here and back if Greg couldn’t pick me up, and those were only on the days that I made enough to even pay for the bus. Being a waitress was supposed to be easy-- I mean, it always looked easy.
Maybe if it were somewhere else, it would be different. Caffeine-needy and brooding artists and writers aren’t exactly known to be the friendliest or most accommodating people, or so I’d learned. I decided I should make a sign that read, “I only make $1.43 an hour.” Just to further prove my point.
Pouring coffee was sort of like an acquired skill. At first, I always did it too fast and ended up splashing it everywhere. Now, I went slowly but not too slow, for fear of losing patience and valuable time. Being one of only two waitresses ever in the place, I had to get things right down to the very last second if I planned on making any money.
But I was still horrible. Spilling things, forgetting things--- my mind was definitely not cut out for this. Now Julie, on the other hand, was perfect for it. Cute, a mind that could remember anything, a fine attention to detail and a keen sense for reading people-- she fit the bill. I was much more business-driven-- people skills were not my thing.
So at four o-clock, when my shift started to wind down into its final hour, I got a little anxious to go home and started dialing Greg’s number, just to talk until I went home. The place was empty and I was dead tired from doing what seemed like nothing all day.
“Karen? Aren’t you still at work?” He said after the initial hello.
“Yeah, I’m so bored though. There’s nothing to do..”
Of course, with my luck, a customer walks in.
“Gotta go. Love you. Bye.”
He sat down at the counter on the barstool I always sat at. I checked him over for the creepiness factor-- writer, painter, professor of jazz, struggling actor, carpenter, car salesman-- it was a diverse crowd, and I’d more or less seen it all in the short time I’d been there.
I plopped down a coffee cup in front of him. He seemed pretty safe-- he was wearing a suit and tie and had a shaggy haircut that made him look younger than he probably was. I guessed first job.
“What can I get for you?” I asked. Fifty six minutes and counting..
“Um, black coffee’s fine,” he replied without looking up from a piece of paper he was reading. Resume-- I could see a “Dunder Mifflin” logo in the upper right-hand corner, upside-down of course. I wondered what kind of job you could get there.
“Haven’t seen you here before,” I said to start a conversation, make time go a little faster.
“Yeah. I, um, just moved here.” He took a sip of his coffee, winced. With one more swig and another funny face, I could tell he was attempting to drink coffee to either please someone, like a girlfriend or fit in with the crowd.
“Cool. Well, welcome,” I said with a smile. Come on, clock.
Julie came through the door again.
“Karen!” she exclaimed in the near dead-silent room. “They canceled my fucking appointment. So now I have to wait another, like, four weeks until I can reschedule-- which means I can’t go back to--” She saw the guy at the counter, plastered on her waitress smile. “Oh. God. Sorry. Oh. Man. Sorry.”
And repeat, repeat, repeat.
“Sorry to hear that, Jules. Guess the shop’s stuck with me for a few more weeks,” I said without a trace of anger or resentment in my voice.
The new guy, the job guy, had left me my first tip all day. Two dollars, which I saved and remembered as the first thing I ever did right at that job, the first time my sister was the bad one, not me.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Yes, Karen, the Karen :)
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks for reading! Reviews are lovely :)
