Triple Shot Apocalypse

Chapter 1

 You know how the orchestra was still playing while the Titanic sank? I always knew that I'd end up like one of the violinists, tuning out all of the chaos around me and still doing my thing. The sky is bright orange, hazed over with smoke, but the sun isn't setting. In fact, it's 2 in the afternoon. I think I hear some tornado sirens in the distance, but they're such a common background noise these days I may simply be imagining them. My headset pings and vibrates, signaling the arrival of a customer. It's just me and Gage on the floor and he's busy cleaning out the pastry case so it's up to me.

"Hello, welcome to Jupiter Bean. What can I get started for you today?" I chirp, absentmindedly tapping the cracked screen of my register.

"Lavender... triple... soy..." I can't really make out what the lady is saying, but that's not a new problem. Even before the mass frying of electronics that plagued the world, people still muttered incomprehensible fancy coffee-related buzzwords that they expected us to understand.

"Okay, triple soy latte with lavender. Anything else?" I inquire, entering the drink into my ailing computer.

"No! I said triple... lavender... ristretto..." The lady at the speaker box retorts. I still don't understand a word she's saying but do my very best to input the order correctly. These days, everyone needs some comforting indicator of what our lives used to be like.

"Okay, your total is $7.89. See ya around the corner." I say, hitting the "send" button. The ticket machine creaks in protest behind me and spits out a faded sticker. As I walk over to hot bar to retrieve it, I feel a brief pang of nerves as the crushing reality of my situation sets in again. Many people were convinced that COVID was going to be the end, a complete apocalypse, but they were wrong. This is the true apocalypse- fried computers and smartphones. And here I am, playing the violin through all of the riots and food and supply shortages.

I am the Doomsday Barista.