Malpractice Makes Perfect

Chapter 15

          "What's taking so long?" The woman on the other side of the counter tapped her foot in time to the clock.

          I poured today's special—a vanilla hazelnut blend—into a paper cup. "Ma'am. There's three customers ahead of you." I love my job, I do. For the most part. But some days it just doesn't pay to deal with other people.

          She huffed and clenched her hands to her hips. "I only ordered a coffee. It shouldn't take this long."

          I kept my voice even but stern. "I'm going as fast as I can."

          "Starbucks wouldn't take this long." Starbucks had twice as many employees and faster, more expensive equipment.

          "This isn't a Starbucks."

          "Well, that's for damn sure." She crossed her arms over her chest but stayed glued to her place by the counter where she could watch my every move. "The only reason I'm here is because the Starbucks near my house closed and the reviews for this place were stellar, but I can see I was misinformed."

          "I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am." I turned back to one of my regulars and slid the coffee across the counter. "Here you go."

          The irate woman did not take my hint to stop talking. "And you should learn to be a bit more professional, young lady." She started tapping her fingers on the countertop. "I expect a free bagel for the trouble."

          Next order was a latte. "We don't do that ma'am."

          "Could I speak with your manager."

          I smiled. "I am the manager. And the owner."

          Her shoulders deflated a bit as she leaned back and checked the clock. "Ah. Well, doesn't hurt to ask."

          Maybe if I'm rude enough she'll never come back. "Just give me a couple more minutes."

          "Well, fine."

          By the grace of God that calmed her. She stood there waiting; passive-aggressively sighing and checking her phone but otherwise quiet. I just wish she had been my only difficult customer today. But as luck would have it, she was only the first in a line of complainers who couldn't wait to take their frustrations out on me. I bore it, as I do and handled the brigade of assholes with a dignity that would have made my mama smile. Of course, there was that part of me that wanted to start chucking hot coffee at people's faces but, you know, that's assault or something. And I'm too pretty to be someone's prison bitch so I restrained myself.

          By that afternoon the sun was low and warm. I took my break in the back alley—a dingy but quiet sanctuary in a turbulent day. Taking a seat on the top stoop, I whipped out my phone and opened the contacts. I hit Manny's number and waited.

          It rung. I waited. It rung some more. When his voicemail answered, I hung up and sighed. Okay, probably busy. No prob. I dialed Henry next. It rung and rung and rung. When the automatic voicemail kicked in, I sighed and hung up. Probably locked in his office editing. I knew better than to call Alice during business hours, so I didn't even try.

           Why is everyone busy when I want to rant and blow off steam? Oh yeah. Because they're working adults. I'd bitch to Jackson, but he was already gone. And I hadn't seen Johnny in a few days so I couldn't bum a smoke and then make a big to-do about how I don't smoke and how it's a filthy habit, and other assorted, annoying things I say to him that tickle me for some reason. Even the old alley cat, Tumnus, was MIA, so I guess I'm on my own for now.