Order 73 ~DNF~

𝟘𝟙

If you're back from the first one, I rebranded. I just thought the name sounded nice, I promise I'm not an alcoholic or anything lol. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, don't worry about it :)

happy reading!

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𝒢𝑒𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑒 𝒫𝒪𝒱

I sidestep between drowsy customers waiting in line, acknowledging the dark-haired woman who ordered a caffe mocha with three pumps of caramel syrup with a smile, before setting down her drink. I all but jog to the cart, grabbing a few cleaning supplies to clear the table next to her.

Holy shit. I happily pocket the twenty dollar tip, wiping down the coffee spills and brown sugar grains decorating the beautiful wood finish. A new group walks over and thanks me before settling down, immediately adding to the loud chatter of the morning atmosphere.

Our whole thing was the idea of being a safe space open almost 24/7. I'm pretty sure weekends are only half days. I'll find out today anyway. The job is surprisingly easy enough to get the hang of, but taxing work.

Juggling the work that comes with being a rising computer science doctorate holder and the long hours of my job isn't the greatest. I've come to some sort of rhythm with it, finishing homework from my previous class in another's lecture on a work day, but it's still a work in progress.

I hurry back to the counter, taking a quick sip of the Americano sitting precariously on the edge of the granite near the cash register. I glance over at Olivia who's in the middle of a particularly long order and call the next person in line, clearing the last from the system.

"Hi, yeah–ahh, I'll get a medium hazelnut cappuccino with shots of espresso to-go please." My sharpie hovers over the textured paper of the cup.

"Alright, how many shots would you like? And could I have a name please?" I ask pleasantly. The morning is obviously the worst shift to get. Tired and incoherent people that take up a lot of time to order plus the sheer amount of customers to get through just sucks.

"Right, like six. And put it down as Mike." The dude looks absolutely out of it, and there's no way I'm putting six espresso shots into a medium sized coffee.

"I'm sorry sir but I think six espresso shots in a medium drink is a bit dangerous. It won't taste too good either. I would suggest three at the most." I tell him, writing down his name on the cup. He seems to process it for a second before nodding.

"Crap you're right, sorry. Sounds good." I nod in relief, and plug in his order. The last thing I need is for this dude to have heart palpitations and pass out during my first week of working in this place. "3.20 please."

He hands me a five dollar bill as I hand him his receipt, mumbling to keep the change before sauntering off to the side to wait. I pour in the coffee, enjoying the aromatic steam no matter how many times I've smelled it before. The warm milk goes in before the hazelnut syrup and I pump the dark espresso shots in the middle, stirring twice before adding a bit of vanilla foam on top.

With a satisfying snap of the lid, I slide the drink onto the table calling out Mike's name and the order number. Usually we only call out the names of the order, but I'm not risking it after yesterday. I called out Chris and three people came up to the counter; it was just more work for me trying to figure out who ordered what. Easier to call out the numbers along with it.

"Hey George, you mind going down and delivering these to that record shop down the road? I'm swamped over here." She wipes her glistening forehead with a napkin and places the coffee carrier on top of cookie crumbs dotting what they call "the bar". The owner got an extra counter and a couple of pub stools for it. People can sit there and watch us work if they want, while ordering.