The Need to Become Fearless

"Fear the work day, and you've already lost the work day."

The gentle chimes of my ringtone sound more like breaking glass as they rip through my deep sleep. I crack an eye open and will the caller to give up, but when the ringing persists, I fumble for my phone with a sigh.

"Yeah?" is all I'm able to manage into the receiver.

"Jack! Hey man, listen. I'm not gonna be able to make it in today. I feel like shit."

I pull the phone away and read the name of my employee, Josh. I groan as I remember that he was on the opening shift today, and curse as the realization hits me that I'll have to open... on my day off... again. The joys of management never end.

"Alright. I've got it. Feel better. I expect you to be there tomorrow!" I try my best to sound authoritative, but I know I've failed when he chuckles and thanks me.

There's a tiny line of patrons queued up out front when I arrive, and why shouldn't they? I'm a full thirty minutes late opening. After many apologies and promises of discounted drinks, I'm aproned up and ready to tackle this day.

A small round of orders have been filled, pastries have been stocked, tables cleaned and money is properly distributed to the accompanying tills, and my backup finally arrives. Another one of the employees, Angie, walks in and it's like music to my ears. She's still new, and not totally familiar with the ebb and flow of the coffee shop, but she's an extra set of hands that I desperately need.

The day is already off to a rocky start, and with several more customers lining up I can tell that this'll be a day that I'll desperately regret attending to. And it's still early morning.

As the minutes tick by, my customers seem to get ruder and more demanding. "This isn't made right." "My drink isn't hot enough." "I'd rather have a fresher muffin." "I want a double non fat mocha pile of bullshit with a splash of kiss my ass." But, being a manager means I have to bite my cheek until it bleeds and plaster a giant grin on my face as I make that double non fat mocha pile of bullshit.

Finally, just as I'm starting to feel homicidal, it's my lunch break. I'm so looking forward to thirty uninterrupted minutes of quiet bliss that allow me to reign in every negative emotion coursing through my veins.

As I'm making my way to the back room, I hear it. The unmistakable sound of dishes crashing to the ground. Before I can even muster the willpower to turn around, I close my eyes and imagine the sweet smell of liquid caffeine surrounding me is that of my own, in a huge kitchen in a giant house (that I can totally afford on my own), on a nice flat beach, somewhere far from here. But, alas, I have to put on my problem solving pants and face the situation head on.

"Jack, I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened! They... just slipped and..." Angie's starting to tear up and I feel the irritation drain from my body. My only focus now is making sure she feels better.

"It's okay. Hey, there's no need to cry over spilled milk... or broken dishes in this case." I give her a comforting smile and gently pat her back.

"I'll get the broom. I'm sorry, go to your lunch break. I'll get this. This day's a bitch, huh?" she smiles through tears.

"I can't complain about it, but if want to on my behalf, I won't stop you at all."

Angie chuckles and she pushes away a tear with the palm of her hand while I give her a pat on the back. If I really take the time to see the day as a whole, it actually could be going worse. There at least hasn't been another raiding of the complimentary creamers from some kids who's parents weren't watching their little raging tax deductions like a hawk.

"Jack," Thomas mutters as he heads over to me when I almost make it to the front of the shop to take my break. "We've got a really big problem."

"Of course we do," I sigh, my fingers unwrapping from the front door handle. My stomach lets an angry growl float through the air, protesting my job and my inability to eat breakfast.

Following Thomas down to the walk in freezer I groan when I see a giant puddle of what looks like neon green slime mixed with a white residue slowly spreading over the freshly mopped floor. It looks like some sort of slime creature had eaten a large amount of non dairy creamer and then reconsidering, had thrown up over the entire back half of the store.

"What in the actual fuck is that," I yelp, jumping back from the muck at my feet.

"I'm pretty sure it's the new Green Monster Mocha mix for the kid coffee menu," Thomas grumbles. "I just have no idea what type of clean product to use to get it up. The directions that came with the containers are in Mandarin Chinese."

It takes twenty minutes to figure out what to do to deal with the chemical spill and at this point I'm so hungry that I'm pretty sure that my stomach will never properly love me again. Even Gary, the grumpiest barista on staff who was hired because his mom owned the store is looking at me with something very close to actual pity.

"If you need me to take over for a while I can," Gary offers, his back to his latest customer, who was looking angry at being so blatantly ignored.

"Just take care of the counter, I'll get it." If I had a nickel for every fucking sigh that escaped my lips today, I'd never have to work another day in customer service hell.

The only logical thing I could think of was to lay down the kitty litter that we use to sop up the slick spills we occasionally come across. I make my way to the back to grab the bag, and low and behold... it fucking rips, sending how many pieces of litter cascading across the floor, I don't know.

"Mother ape ass!" I shout as I look towards the ceiling for some sort of guidance.

"Hey, Jack, just wanted to let you know we're out of danish- oh shit, man. That's a mess. Need help?" Gary offers again, but I wave him away.

"I'll get it. Just offer anyone a free donut in exchange if they order a danish. I'll put in a bigger order in just a bit," I relay through gritted teeth as I begin scooping the litter into a dry mop bucket close by.

After what seems like forever; the green machine is finally swept up, the customers have dwindled down and finally I see an opening for my break. Just as I'm about to tell the other's I'm clocking out, Thomas hangs his apron on the hook and walks towards the door.

"Taking my lunch break! Back in a few," he chimes and once again I bite my cheek.

Hours pass by and I haven't eaten all day. My stomach is caving in on itself, but mercifully it's closing time. I lock up and make my way home, nearly passing out before my microwaveable meal has finished cooking. The beeping that lets me know it's completed sounds, and my stomach rumbles in anticipation. Just as I'm about to take a bite, my phone rings. The display 'Gina' shows, and it's another employee.

"Jack. So sorry to call you so late. I just wanted to tell you that I won't be able to make it in tomorrow."

Good help is hard to find.