#like I pump myself up to be the best coworker and barista I can be when I get in there but my underlying motives are I just want to get home

[sweet-jolly-fucken-ranchers]

I encourage lying to customers whenever you can get away with it (as long as it doesn’t throw your coworkers under the bus) and stealing from your job if you earn min wage. Putting an extra bag in the bin when we do wastage to catch the unopened food and leave it so I can take it home and either give it to my old coworkers for free at previous workplaces or give it to hungry people on the street (I don’t donate it to food banks because it’s usually not accepted if it’s going OOD same day and they’re closed when I finish work)

if you come in to a store 15 mins before closing we should be allowed to maim you in some way or at least call you a cunt. Sorry you have the time management skills of a fucking squirrel but no you don’t *need* a three shot latte with vanilla, two cortados, a brownie frappe and four paninis at 5pm. go fuck yourself I’m not joking

I work in a hospital and I only extend sensitivity and kindness to interns, doctors and nurses who are either just starting their 12 hour shift or finishing one when we close and yes they get freebies I won’t charge you for syrup if nobody is looking

customers who come up to where drinks are handed out and order there and then get pissy when I tell them to join the queue? electric chair

customers who spend all their time in the queue on their phones and then when I ask them what they want at the till and they act all flustered and laugh it off like hahahahahaha I am going to kill my self (my best friend literally had somebody hold their finger up to him when he asked what they wanted at the till because they were texting someone and I felt the rage from the other side of the room)

CUSTOMERS WHO WHEN YOU CALL OUT THEIR DRINK X3 ARE ON THE PHONE OR HAVING A CONVERSATION IGNORE OR DONT HEAR YOU SO YOU PUT THE DRINK DOWN AND. START A NEW ONE AND THEY PUSH IN WHEN YOURE TALKING TO ANOTHER CUSTOMER TO BE LIKE “IS THIS MY DRINK??? IM IN A RUSH OI OI” I WILL DESECRATE YOUR CORPSE

children who order their hot chocolate with a please and thank you mysteriously get two more extra marshmallows than they ordered I love you sweetie pies

children who scream and shout and knock over the reusable cups and don’t respond to their parents when they ask if they want marshmallows get put in the milk fridge and forgotten

customers who when I ask if they want a medium (standard) size respond with “yes” and then pause “the smallest you do” so I ask if they want a small instead and they go “hmmm no medium is fine” and then when I go past the point of being able to modify the order for some stupid fucking reason (not their fault not my fault only the fault of the company that doesn’t want to risk employees voiding off at will and losing them money) they change their mind “oh I’ll have a small actually teehee” I am,,,,, no words only angry

company that won’t give their employees free lunch or free coffee outside of the four standard core drinks (no syrups or alt milk except soy) but will do a “free iced drinks” promotion at the height of British summer with said understaffed underpaid and overworked employees die in a fire challenge

[ffakc]

Isn’t She Lovely? - a Jeffrey Dean Morgan fanfiction

Let me preface this by saying I have ZERO desire to have kids IRL, but the thought of Jeff being a loving, doting birth partner makes me feel warm and fuzzy. He’s also such an amazing Daddy, I just had to... fluff galore! @negans-attagirl @happysgal @iluvneganandjamie

It was my final shift as a manager at the adorable Rhinebeck coffee shop that was my home for the past year. My regulars and coworkers teased me, asking why I still had a job despite being married to one of the top grossing actors on The Walking Dead, but working kept my mind busy during the times my Jeffrey was away. I was also three days overdue with our daughter. My midwife told me to rest, but it’s hard to rest when people call in sick!

“Baby!” I step out from behind the counter and greet my husband with a kiss. He places his large hand on my stomach.

“Look how cute my gal is with her apron and her big ol’ belly,” Jeff gushes.

“Why do you have to say it like that?” I laugh. Jeff scoffs and kisses me.

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous,” he smiles. “You about ready to go, doll?”

“If I don’t see you tomorrow, congratulations! You’re going to be a great mom!” my regular Josh tips his cup.

“Bye Josh!” I turn back to Jeffrey, “Yeah, I’m ready whenever you are. I just need to clock out for the last time.”

“We’ll miss you, Boss Lady!” my lead barista Kayla hugs me.

“I’ll miss you too!” I reply, “Bye, everyone!” I call back to the kitchen. Various voices yell back kind words. Kayla wipes a tear away.

“Aww, don’t cry!” I say, tears welling up, “You know I’ll come visit! I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“It’s been wonderful getting to know you, Kayla,” Jeff hugs her as well.

I take my husband by the hand and we make our way to his truck.

“Do you think tonight will be the night?” Jeff remarks.

“I sure hope so. I’m so achy and I feel like my stomach is going to split open,” I laugh.

“Poor thing,” Jeff pouts his lip and rubs my belly. “What do you want for dinner, sweet girl?”

“I’ve been craving sushi all damn day. Cooked, of course,” I reply. I make a quick call to Osaka, our favorite local Japanese place. I hang up the phone and sigh lovingly, “You’re going to be such a good Daddy.”

“And you’ll be the best Mama. I love you so much,” my husband plants a quick kiss on my lips.

***

I wipe the tears away as the music swells. We were watching Phantom of the Opera, one of my favorites. I let out and annoyed groan and Jeff cackles.

“Why are you crying now?!” my husband laughs, “It’s not even sad!” I shove a piece of sushi in my mouth.

“I don’t know!” I giggle, “Stupid pregnancy hormones.” Jeff places his hand on top of the bulge on my side.

“It’s like I’m holding her hand,” Jeff kisses around my navel, “I love my girls.” His kisses make their way up my chest, his hand makes its way through my hair and he sucks my neck.

“We love you too, Daddy,” I moan. Jeff climbs on top of me and I kiss him deeply, gripping onto the neck of his hoodie.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this, might induce labor,” my husband smirks and rests his forehead against mine.

“I’ve heard that’s a myth. I want you so bad, Jeffrey,” I lick my lips and run my fingers through his gray hair. Jeff rasps my name, unbuttoning his jeans. I feel a surge of energy in my lower half as Jeff buries his face in my chest. My eyes widen as clear liquid begins pooling between my thighs. I realize immediately what’s happening.

“Jeff...”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“JEFFREY!” I exclaim and gesture downwards.

“Wha- OH! Oh my god! Baby... baby! We’re having a baby!” he stammers, climbing off of me and adjusts my shirt. “What do I do?!” I attempt to calm him, even though I’m quite panicked myself.

“Go get the bag and start the truck!” I breathe heavily. Jeff puts on his glasses and grabs my large black backpack, slinging it over his shoulder.

“I’m so excited! It’s real! It’s happening!” Jeff laughs. He helps me off the couch and we hustle to the truck. Jeff calls my mom as he lays a towel on the passenger seat.

“Hey Ma!”

“Hey Jeff, how are you? Any baby updates?”

“Well... You’re going to be a grandma probably within the next 24 hours!”

“Oh my god!” my mom sounded just like her mother when she said that. I squeeze Jeff’s hand as he speeds down the road.

“Let me see here,” Jeff pulls up flights on the touch screen on the dashboard.

“Eyes on the road, Daddy, please!” I exclaim, “Hi, Mom! Sorry!” I hear both my parents laugh at me, causing me to laugh too. I sounded like a nervous wreck.

“Hi! Are you feeling okay? Any contractions yet?”

“Not yet, from what I looked up... woah! I felt a little cramping there.”

“I see a five hour flight that leaves in three hours. Do you think y’all can manage that?” Jeff says, “I will pay, don’t you worry.”

“Anything for my first grandbaby,” my mom says. “I can’t guarantee we’ll be there for the birth, but we will be there! See you guys soon, okay?”

“Bye!” Jeff and I say in unison.

***

Four in the morning. I hadn’t slept a wink. Labor so far felt like the worst period cramps I’ve ever had. I was only two centimeters, a hell of a long way from ten.

“Jeffrey,” I whimper, my voice cracking, “It hurts.”

“I know, baby, I know. What can I do to help?” Jeff gets close to my face and kisses my forehead, rubbing my hand.

“Something cold would be wonderful. Ice chips, a popsicle. Anything.”

“How about a coffee?” a familiar voice comes from the door.

“You made it,” I smile weakly at my mom.

“No baby, huh? We DID make it!” my dad smiles and pumps his arm in a “YES!” hand gesture. He hugs his son in law and hands him a large Starbucks cup. He hugs me, kissing my forehead.

“Good, Mr. C. Real good,” my husband smiles, sipping the hot coffee.

“Don’t worry, I asked and she said it was fine,” I sit up in bed and hug my mom. She hands me a large iced beverage, “It’s a decaf americano with some Splenda, just something to sip on. I know you like a little bit of coffee with your cream, but you can’t have that right now.”

“Thank you so much,” I take a long drink. “That’s so good... God damn it!” I grit my teeth.

“Another one?” Jeff sits next to me on the bed. “I think they’re close to five minutes apart,” he says to my parents. I rest my head on his chest and groan loudly, “That’s it, pretty girl. Let it out. Scream if you have to. Break my fucking hand if you have to. You’re doing amazing so far.”

“This is the longest thirty sec- ah! Jeffrey!” I grip onto his thigh for dear life. He shushes me softly and rests his chin on my forehead, “I hate my mom and dad seeing me like this.” My mom reassures me that it’s nothing to be embarrassed about and her and my dad go to the waiting room. I try my best to remember the breathing techniques our midwife taught me, but failing miserably. This was going to be a long day.

***

Eight o’ clock. The rays of sun came flooding through the curtain. I close my eyes for a moment as another contraction squeezes me tight.

“Don’t say you’re tired. Come on, Jeff. She’s having your kid and you’re worried about being ti-“ Jeff mumbles to himself.

“You know you’re allowed to be tired too,” I laugh and look at him through slitted eyelids. Jeff smiles and kisses my cheek, rubbing my hand lovingly.

“Hello!” our midwife Lynn pokes her head in.

“Please tell me I’m ready to push,” I let out a deep breath.

“Well, let’s see, shall we?” Lynn checks me out. “Don’t hit me,” she chuckles. “You’re only at four centimeters.”

“Oh, Jesus. Just give me the damn drugs.” I glance over at my husband who is drifting off.

“I have to let you know that it will make your contractions stronger and more intense, and I know you’ve expressed being in a great deal of pain already.” Jeff opens his eyes.

“Fuck it, I’ll just sit on the ball for a bit. Daddy?” I turn to Jeff. He grabs the exercise ball.

“I’ll be back soon. Hopefully things will be progressing nicely!”

***

Six in the evening. There’s no possible way I had been in labor for twenty-four hours.

“You’re getting so close, doll,” Jeff whispers and pets my hair. “You’re so strong, Mama, you’re so damn strong. You’re a beautiful, incredible, powerful woman,” Lynn does a brief examination.

“That’s the kind of coaching we like to hear, Jeff! Good vibes only!” Lynn says, “Look at that. You are at a ten, my dear!” I fan my face and a single tear trickles down Jeff’s bearded cheek. I kiss him deeply. I place my feet in the stirrups. “Jeff, are you still okay with catching her? I know you said you wanted to, but sometimes dads back out at the last minute,” Lynn teases.

“Absolutely,” Jeff chuckles.

“All right, sweetheart. On your next contraction, I want you to push hard, okay?” she was so gentle with her words. I nod and exhale. Jeff grips my hand.

“You’ve got this, babe,” my husband kisses me.

The next forty-five minutes fly by and seem to go in slow motion all at the same time. I felt like I had run a thousand marathons.

“I can see her head!” Jeff says excitedly. “You’re almost there, darlin’, you’re so close!” I can’t find the words, the pain is getting to be unbearable.

“I’m going to pass out,” I moan.

“Come on, doll, you’ve got this. You’re doing incredible,” my husband glances between my thighs. “Oh my, she has your wavy hair,” tears stain his cheeks.

“I’m going to guess three more biiiig pushes and you’ll have a baby!” Lynn says.

“You’re so incredible, you’re a fucking warrior, you know that? These are the last few moments we have as just a couple, that’s so wild. After today, we are three. You’re never looked more beautiful, you are glowing. Kiss me, my gorgeous wife,” I feebly press my lips to his.

“Yeah...” I pant, “Oh my fucking god!” I cry out as my face reddens as I push with everything I have in me.

“That’s it! Jeff, quickly, the shoulders are coming!” My husband plants a kiss on my cheek and sits on a stool next to Lynn.

“One... two... three! Push! Come on, girlfriend! Every ounce of energy you have! Good job!” Lynn psyches me up. She mumbles instructions to Jeffrey.

Jeff begins to sob uncontrollably, “She’s so beautiful, you have no idea.” He gasps in awe. Suddenly, a rush of euphoria overtakes my whole body and a loud cry echoes through the room. I rest my head against the pillow and begin crying my eyes out. She’s here! Jeff holds our tiny daughter in his large hands.

“Just place her right there,” Lynn beams with pride. “You did it! Happy birthday, little girl!” She grabs some blankets as our little angel wails. I wrap my arms around her and Jeff bends down next to me.

“You’re so amazing, Mama. She’s so perfect. I love her, I love you. You are such a badass, I’m so proud of you,” Jeff whispers.

“I love you too, Jeffrey. Daddy, she’s all ours,” I kissed him over and over again, “I love you so, so, so much.” I had never felt more connected to my husband than this exact moment. After cleaning her off and doing all the routine checks, I finally get to hold our girl.

“Hi there, little bean,” I kiss the top of her head, my voice shot from crying and screaming, “I’m your Mommy,” I hold her tiny hand, “You look just like your Daddy. And you smell so good!”

“I’ve heard of new car smell, but new baby smell?” Jeff giggles.

“Do we have a name?” Lynn asks.

“Evelyn,” Jeff sniffs and kisses the crown of her head, “Evelyn Alice Morgan.”

[cyberiade]

20-7=14

Tropetember day two!

Coffee shop au + College au = Barista! Tony x Student! Steve Warnings: mentions of Tony being drunk in the past at the beginning, except that none Word count: 1.211 Summary: Anthony Edward Stark, son of The Howard Stark, the genius that graduated MIT being seventeen, worked as a barista at a small coffee shop under the name of Tony Stank. A/n: Steve is a student, but he's in his twenties. He's not a minor there. Ao3 link!

It started out as a punishment - for something along the lines of how lighthearted Tony treated the whole "fortune" thing. He didn't really remember, he was too drunk to function anyway.

At first, he was furious - not only would he miss out the best parties, but he'd have to work like a normal citizen! And he had to share a flat with not one, but two roommates!

After some time, Tony realized he quite enjoyed the peace of a normal life, without paparazzi chasing him, reporters getting in his face, his father pressuring him for another new invention. He enjoyed sharing space with Rhodes and Banner, even if it was just existing in the same room. And, for the most part, he liked his job.

While sometimes the customers were overwhelming, rude or even aggressive, being a barista provided him a steady routine. It was calming and simple. His whole life felt calm and simple when he was there, if he was being honest.

Tony smiled to himself, lost in his thoughts. Suddenly, a sweet, small voice called him.

"Um, excuse me? Can I get an Iced Americano with three expresso shots, two pumps of vanilla syrup, heavy cream and two teaspoons of sugar?"

"Of course, that'll be—" Tony paused to look at the screen "— five dollars." He looked up, looking up at the muscular blonde standing in front of him. His eyes had big, dark bags under them and he had a few cuts around his cheeks and chin - probably from shaving.

After he received the money and handed the receipt, he told the young handsome man to take a seat and wait for his order.

Soon enough, the drink was served. The café was almost empty, with only a few people sitting in the corner, chatting quietly.

Tony used the lack of work to shamelessly check out the man, noticing how his thighs looked even thicker when he sat, how he pouted slightly, clearly struggling with some problem in that textbook of his.

He had to stop oggling observing the man when another customer walked in, but his eyes returned to the man as soon as his deed was done.

The student now looked like he was about to burst in tears any second, which was worrying considering that only a few minutes had passed since Tony last saw him.

"Go, help him," his coworker and roommate, Bruce, nudged, "I can stand alone when there's little to nobody here, and maybe you'll even get his number if you'll help him?" he winked.

And Tony, like the absolute fool he is, listened to him.

"Hey there, big guy, is that seat taken?" Tony pointed at the chair next to the student. The man shook his head as to say 'no'. The Stark sat down on said chair and put the cup of coffee he brought on the table.

"What's gotten you so worked up, hm?" Stark asked, before looking at the textbook. "Physics? It can be rough sometimes, I totally get you." Tony was gifted in the area of science, but that didn't mean he didn't need to study, and he always found physics to be the most difficult - there was just something about this subject that made it hard to remember, even if it was supposed just to be 'how the universe worked'.

"It's just that I used the right formulas, I'm sure of it, and I did everything as I should, but, the result is wrong no matter how I approach the problem." his teary, blue eyes met Tony's, which had him melting inside, despite the situation. "And if i won't get it right my teacher's gonna fail me for sure, and, and-" a few tears spilled down his cheeks and Tony had to fight the urge to brush them with his thumb.

"Maybe you just need another pair of eyes to look at it? Let me see if I can find any errors?"

The man (Tony really needed to ask him for his name) wordlessly gave him his notebook, wiping the tears with his sleeve. Tony checked the problem first, then tried to half-solve it in his head. Then, he checked all the calculations. At first, nothing seemed to be wrong, but soon Tony noticed where the mistake was.

"I think I know what went wrong here," he barely could stop himself from laughing, "can you —pfffttt— can you please tell me whahahat, what is 20-7?"

"Um, thirteen" the student looked baffled. Why would the barista ask such question, if he was good at math?

"Then whahahahy did you write fourteen?" Tony could barely restrain himself, especially seeing blonde's expression. He made mistakes like that quite often, too, but always noticed after staring at said calculations for a bit.

The buff man snorted. This broke the last of Tony's efforts to not laugh and soon the pair was shaking with laughter.

"How could I not notice?" he half-whined, but there was a hint of giggle in his tone, and he seemed more at ease, relaxed even.

"It's an early-made error, so maybe your brain just got used to seeing it that way didn't consider it a mistake? I do that all the time!"

"Thanks, man." he smiled sheepishly. They sat in silence for a while before he continued. "Say, um," he paused to look at his badge, "Tony, what would you say if we hung out? No homework, just coffee and some talking? No pressure though, of course, I know it's a bit soon but-" his rambling was cut off by Tony.

"No, no, I'd love to! Honestly I wanted to ask you out too," he pointed at the cup he brought, which had his number scribbled on the side, along with a short note saying 'text me' and a winky face.

"Oh, um, that's great, thanks!" Steve looked like he didn't expect Tony to answer the way he did. "What time do you end your shift on Saturday?" Do you even work on Saturday in the first place?"

"I do, I end at five," Tony answered with a smile. He found the student's awkwardness adorable.

"P.m?"

"No, a.m.," he replied sarcastically, then added an 'of course five p.m.', just to be sure they were on the same page.

"Okay, so what about we choose what we're gonna do, and then set the time? Of course it'll be after five," Steve asked, and the barista nodded in response.

They would chat for a bit longer if Bruce didn't call Tony's name and pointed at the clock. When the Stark realised what his colleague meant, he looked at his watch only to see that it was the time they closed the shop.

"Oh, um, this is the time when we close the, you know, uh, the the-" Tony's attempt to form a sentence was interrupted by the man.

"The shop?"

"Yes, the shop. I forgot the word," the genius smiled nervously.

"Well, um, I'll see you, then, Tony"

"Yes, see you soon, uhh," Tony realised he didn't remember his soon-to-be-date's name.

"Oh! Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself! I'm Steve," and after a short pause he added "Steve Rogers." He waved his hand and he was gone before Tony could even think to say 'goodbye'.

The genius returned to the counter, unaware of the smile still playing on his lips. Bruce couldn't help but grin, seeing his roommate and coworker (and maybe — he hoped — a friend) happy like that was rare, but made him happy.

While closing the store, Tony couldn't help but close his eyes and sigh happily.

'Steve...'

[marueonmain]

Kiss it Better ~ WillNE

Summary: Will fancies the new barista at his regular coffee shop.

Pairing: willne x insecure!reader

Warning: N/A

Word Count: 1.2k

Y/N worked the café counter: baking cookies: brewing coffee: scheming how best to murder her coworker who called in and left her alone for four hours. That particular morning there was not the usual aroma of cinnamon scones hugging the air; instead, there was a light chemical perfume like the beverage cooler was leaking freon.

Y/N should have perhaps been worried about that – she was not. Y/N should have told someone higher up about her suspicion – she did not.

It was near twelve when he walked in.

Some regulars grumbled because Y/N did not recognize them and their usual order, but she recognized him. He visited the café maybe three times since Y/N started but – She. Recognized. Him.

To be fair, he was a sight to see. He was tall – a smidge lanky even – with a jawline that could cut glass. Striking blue eyes shined under manicured eyebrows. He wore a black hoodie with gold script under a light wash jean jacket. And his dark hair struck a nice contrast to his paler skin.

Attractive. To put it in one word. He was attractive.

“Good Morning!” Y/N chirped in her customer-service voice.

“It is. You doing alright?”

“Totally.” Y/N took a permanent marker from the pocket of her apron, then reached under the counter and grabbed a medium-sized paper cup. She scribbled on it. “And it’s…”

“Will.”

A more genuine smile took her lips. “I remember your name. I was just trying to remember your usual order.”

“It’s a medium mocha with one pump of vanilla and one of hazelnut.”

As he spoke, Y/N hurried to finished writing on the cup and placed it on the counter. She looked back up to see Will’s charming eyes searching to connect with her own. It was nerve-wracking to put it lightly. Just another afternoon Y/N was thankful to be stood behind a counter and to have a script.

She asked, “Would you like any chocolate croissants or scones to go with that?”

“Let me see.” Will stepped back, meandering over to the bake case where he scanned the shelves of treats from the bottom up. When he reached the brownies on the top shelf, his eyes flickered over the case to meet Y/N, flashing a smile. “You choose. I trust yous.”

A blush painted itself across Y/N’s face, and she could feel it too – how her face heated up. So, she ducked her head as best she could. Grabbing tongs, she chose a treat from the case. Besides the nervous waver that had come into Y/N’s voice, the transaction continued as usual.

Will paid and was sent to the end of the bar to wait for his drink.

Thinking she had enough experience to know how long it took to steam milk, Y/N pulled at the handle of the pitcher and pulled it out from under the steam wand. But she was wrong and pulled it a little too soon. Seventy-degree milk splashed over the side of the pitcher and onto her hand. Before she could catch herself, she swore under her breath, “Shit.”

“Careful.” Will piped up, having seen part of what happened.

It took an extra second for Y/N to process the words as she jumped to the sink to run cold water over her hand. “It’s fine, just burned myself a little. It happens, what are you going to do you, you know?”

“I hope you’re alright.”

“What do you want?” She chuckled dryly. “To kiss it better?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

Y/N paused, staring at her hand under the water, sure that she did not hear what she thought she heard. Not that it mattered. It was a silly comment – some banter. So why did her tongue become heavy in her mouth? And why did the colour drain from her face?

Without another word, Y/N turned back around and finished making the drink. When she was done, she placed it on the end of the bar in front of Will. It seemed she could not get herself to look straight at him as she squeaked out a polite, “Enjoy.”

“Thank you.” Will said, and right before Y/N could scamper off, he added, “I was wondering if you would want to get drinks with me. Like not coffee drinks. Proper drinks.”

Y/N faced him, now knowing she was being ridiculous. It was a joke. A genuine, relaxed smile stretched across her face, and she rolled her eyes playfully. She laughed. “Oh, right, of course. I’ll clear out my calendar—” Holding out her hands, she mimed writing something down and then circling it. “—hot date tomorrow night.”

It did not receive the reaction she expected. Will’s smile faltered, and for the first time in their interaction, his eyes dropped from her face. Pulling at the sleeves of his sweatshirt, dragging them past where his jacket sleeves ended, he asked in a timid voice, “Why do you say it like that?”

“Well…” her voice also became hesitant, “you’re not serious.”

“It’d be a pretty shit joke to make. Am I that unfunny?”

“No! I just—you’re just—you know.”

“—Will.” That damned smile of his returned.

“Yes, I remember your name.” Y/N, feeling her face heat up again, moved from the end of the bar, taking the used milk pitcher with her to distract her hands. She rinsed it out in the sink.

“It’d make the date a bit awkward if you didn’t.”

“I- I’m not,” she stuttered and stopped. Putting down the milk pitcher, she returned to Will’s gaze and, while wiping her wet hands on her apron, asked, “Are you sure? I’m going to look like this.”

There was not a scenario – Y/N believed – where she would dress up and do her makeup and turn into someone beautiful. She was not that. That was not her.

“I don’t mind the coffee smell, but the apron might look odd,” Will spoke light and cheerful until he clocked the lack of change in Y/N’s face. “If you don’t want to go, I understand.”

“No, I do! I definitely do.”  

“Good. You got a queue forming; I won’t hold you up too long.” From his pocket, he pulled out his receipt for the mocha and flipped it over to the blank side. “Could I get your number? We can talk details.”

Y/N took a permanent marker from the pocket of her apron.

~ LATER ~ TWO NEW MESSAGES ~

Unknown: Hi! It’s hot mocha with vanilla and hazelnut!

Unknown: I mean, it’s Will ;)

[pricemarshfield]

hero

A Drevarry colllege AU. Read on AO3 here.

"Potter," someone calls, all posh accent and outrage, and Harry sighs and turns.

"What dyou want, Malfoy?" Harry asks. He's got a chemistry book in his bag--his least favorite subject with the worst professor on campus, but it's important for STEM education majors to be well-rounded--and has been dreaming about a way-too-sugary coffee ever since he got out of his 8am. "And talk while we walk, if I get caught in the mid-class line at the cafe, I'll kill you."

"As if you could," Malfoy says with a scoff, as if they're not both in a variety of intramural sports just to fuck with each other. As rivalries go, it's fun, even if only started over a tiff over plane seats on the flight over. He'd just wanted to sit with Ron (planned on sleeping the whole ride) and Hermione (so focused on her podcasts and book and notes that she'd stop any noises she was making before Harry could). It's hardly his fault the guy wanted a window seat and was stuck next to two American football players instead.

"You're not listening, are you?" Malfoy says, and Harry snaps out of it.

"I had an 8am physics lecture today," he says. "And I don't mind physics, but it's not engaging."

"Fine, I'll just repeat myself," Malfoy says with a roll of his eyes.

"If you're going to follow me across campus, you're paying for my coffee," Harry says.

Malfoy glares at him, but also holds open the door to Starbucks, so, yknow, whatever.

"Not Starbucks!" Ginny calls with a glare as soon as she sees him walk in, even though her eyes are sparkling. "We serve Starbucks drinks. We are not a Starbucks, you cannot use your giftcard here, you cannot get stars here, try it and I'll jump across the table and kill you."

"What did you do to piss off the barista?" Malfoy asks. They've not entirely avoided the line between classes, but they're pretty fairly in the middle, and Harry should still have plenty of time to study before the mandatory event for international students tonight.

"Nothing, she's a friend of mine," Harry says with a laugh. "If she was mad at me, she'd just poison my coffee."

"If I can't use gift cards, at least get something cheap," Malfoy says.

"Are you trying to convince me to do something?" Harry asks, instantly suspicious. "I was just taking the piss out of you."

Malfoy's cheeks tinge red, but just to play nice, since he seems to be making an effort, he'll order something cheap.

Cheap-ish, at least, he loves the fancy drinks here. "Iced caramel macchiato. None of the pineapple ginger syrup this time."

"I have no idea what you mean," Ginny says brightly, already grabbing the cup and writing the codes on autopilot. "I would never. Extra shots or syrup or anything?"

Harry hesitates, and Malfoy says, "It's fine, I can afford it."

"Extra shot, pump of the brown sugar syrup if you still have it," Harry says.

"I can't wait to tell my mother you've gotten pretentious about coffee," Ginny says victoriously, giving the cup to one of her coworkers as she types it into the cashier. "She'll be so proud."

"Don't make a thing out of it," Harry groans.

"Too late," Ginny says. "You can see the total, Malfoy, just pay."

Malfoy bristles before Harry stage-whispers, "That's Ginny being nice, Malfoy," and then he grumbles and slides the card in. Harry doesn't even pretend to look at him as he types his pin.

"Coffee'll be out in a few, caramel macchiatos are easy, " Ginny says. "Wish me luck for the rush."

"Stay strong, good luck," Harry says, and Ginny gives him a little mocking salute as the two of them move to the side.

"What I meant to say," Malfoy says with a grumble. "I have a--"

"Hey, Harry!" Neville calls, and Harry turns to his roommate with a wide grin. "Headed back to the room?"

"After I get my coffee, yeah," Harry says, ignoring Malfoy muttering obscenities under his breath right next to him. "You?"

"Nah, got a class on identifying plants first," Neville says. "Interesting stuff! It's totally different in this part of the world. By the way, I meant to ask you, would you mind being my model for a photography project? Just a quick thing, not anything, like--"

"Absolutely not," Malfoy says. "I asked first."

"You didn't?" Harry says.

"You not listening doesn't mean I didn't ask!" Malfoy protests, loud enough that a couple grad students look up from the tables they're at and glare. Malfoy quiets down. "Look, Neville--"

"Neville?" Harry interrupts, just to see Malfoy's cheeks get even redder. "You two know each other?"

"Back in primary school, yeah," Neville says. "Don't get me wrong, we didn't get along or anything, but he's not a dumb kid anymore."

"Yes, yes, I was an arse and a privileged git a decade ago, I know, but I did genuinely ask," Malfoy says.

Neville shrugs. "I'll just see if there's a modeling club on campus. Luna and Ginny are both busy, but--"

"I really don't like photos," Harry says. "So no to both of you. Sorry."

"Why?" Malfoy asks, cutting himself off when Neville makes a shut-up motion.

"Just, y'know," Harry says. "Had enough of it. Why don't you two just use each other as models?"

Neville makes a not-the-worst-idea face. Malfoy looks like Harry's just proposed pissing in his oatmeal.

"I mean, you said you've asked your friends, right, Nev? And I'm sure you wouldn't ask me if you had another option," Harry says. Draco doesn't answer, which is as good as an acknowledgement that he's right. "Is it against the rules or something?"

"I'm sure it's not, Professor Burbage wants us to be friends," Neville says.

"God," Malfoy says. "Everyone in your dorm really is all so friendly, huh?"

"Best dorm on campus," Neville says.

"Go Lions," Harry adds.

"Fine," Malfoy says. "If I must."

"Great," Harry says. "I'll be studying, so if you're going to discuss it in the dorm stay quiet. I've got an o-chem test tomorrow."

Both of them wince in sympathy.

"I'll make sure to be quiet when I come back in tonight so you can get some sleep," Neville says.

"Thanks, man," Harry says. "I'll grab dinner for you and leave it in the fridge?"

"Gryffindors," Malfoy says despairingly.

[redrobinfection]

(16) Graveyard

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober (2018) - Day 16 “Graveyard”

Tim & Damian | Implied JayTim | Implied DickDami | College AU | No Capes | Crack | actual discussion of literature | Dick Grayson was adopted by the Drakes instead of the Waynes | Want to write/create with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

"How about four out of seven?" Tim asked with a shrug, winding up the toilet paper roll again.

Damian, his fellow barista, threw his roll at Tim's head, missing wildly. He glared. "You cheated, Drake!"

Tim rolled his eyes as he retrieved Damian's roll and began winding it up too. "How could I cheat at coffee cup bowling, ‘Wayne’?"

"You wind your roll too tightly. It doesn't unravel as much when you pitch it and thus has more mass by the time it hits the cups."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "What are you now, a physics major? That just sounds like strategy, dude. You are free to roll your roll as tightly as you'd like. That isn't against the rules."

Damian fumed. "The rules you made up! This is why I said we should use the rice crispy ba--customer."

Tim whirled on the spot, seeing that, indeed, a paying customer had entered their little, semi-enclosed coffee shop. Outside, a few students sat or sprawled over the sectional couches that filled the large basement of the university student union in which the shop was located.

Tim turned and vaulted over the counter. He heard a quiet "-tch-" from Damian as he walked to the hinged raise-able section of the counter and let himself in.

Tim straightened his apron and stepped up the register with a smile. The customer stood about five feet from the register, head tilted back, studying the menu board over Tim's head with bleary eyes. The guy was like a zombie, he was that exhausted. Tim cut his eyes over to the clock on the wall. 3:45 am. Hell of a time for coffee.

Tim glanced over his shoulder at Damian, who was reawakening the cranky espresso machine with deft fingers. Seven hours and forty-five minutes with Damian "the Demon " Wayne down, only four hours and fifteen minutes to go. Tim turned back to their customer and sighed. This was going to be a loooooooong morning.

At second glance, there was something familiar about the guy, but Tim couldn't put his finger on where he knew him. The guy had pretty teal eyes, but they were reddened and dull, like he hadn't closed them except to blink in way too long. He was also pretty well cut, Tim noticed, with clearly muscled arms and pecs so defined that Tim could clearly see them through the man's sweater. Maybe that's how Tim knew him? Maybe he'd seen him in the UREC weight room?

The guy's most eye-catching feature by far was the white forelock that curled down over his forehead. He was the third person Tim had met to have a whitened forelock like that; the other two were fraternal twins who had had small patches of albinism right at their widows peaks which affected both the skin and hair. Tim idly wondered if this guy's white lock was natural too. In any case, it looked frickin' cool, a lot cooler than his own; the best thing he could say about his own hair was that he could pull off the 90's curtain cut plus semi-mullet well enough that he could go an entire semester on a single haircut.

Tim was drawn out of his thoughts when dude finally stepped up to the counter and began to speak.

"Uh, hi, could I get a large, double-shot caramel latte?"

"Absolutely. How many pumps of caramel do you want?" Tim asked cheerily.

The guy looked up from digging through his overly stuffed messenger bag. "Uhh…the normal four should be fine."

"Okay, that will be $6.47. Can I get a name for the order?"

The guy didn't look up this time. "Uh, Jason. Gimme a sec', I know my wallet is at the bottom of this thing somewhere."

"No problem, take your time. It's not like we have a line, anyway," Tim joked.

This guy looked so dead right now--inside and out--that if he didn't find his wallet, then Tim would probably just buy the coffee for the guy himself. He understood better than anyone the sudden need for caffeine at odd hours of the day. He's not sure how he would have finished half his computer science projects this term without a much-needed double-espresso every couple of hours, to be honest.

The guy--'Jason' apparently--finally fished out a small money clip then handed over a student ID card. "Put it on my Dining Dollars, please."

"Yeah, no probl- wait a minute!" Tim cut off, staring. Suddenly, it had hit Tim where he knew this guy. "Aren't you that kid who always sits at the front of Professor Hyatt's nine-fifteen, Tuesday-Thursday, Modern European Literature and answers all the questions?"

The dude raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah. Why…? Wait…" He squinted and leaned in. "Aren't you the kid who once tried to sit all the way back in the AV booth, since, and I quote, 'the back wasn't far enough back'?"

Tim grinned as he swiped the ID card through the register. "Haha, yeah."

Damian moved as if to step up to the counter, the guy's drink in hand, but stopped dead about a foot away. He stared.

"Wait. Aren't you the guy who always comes in, gets tea, and sits in the window over there and reads romance novels?" Damian asked, eying him appraisingly.

The dude huffed. "Yes. My name is Jason--by the way--and they're not romance novels, it's classic lit. Now can I get my coffee?"

Damian handed the coffee over the counter, but raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You mean to tell me Rebecca is not a romance novel?"

"Wait, what!? Do you mean Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca?" Tim asked as he handed Jason's ID card back over the counter.

Damian nodded wordlessly. Tim snorted, then said, "That's not a romance! That's a totally a murder mystery! You must be confusing it with Jane Eyre. I get those mixed up too."

Jason nodded in agreement, tucking his ID away before taking his first sip of coffee. He moaned, his eyes fluttering for a moment as he savored in the sweet bliss of piping hot caffeine at 3:49 in the morning, then he looked at Damian and said, "Well, actually, I'll give you that one, uh…" --he paused to squint at Damian's name tag-- "...'Damian'; Rebecca is a modern romance novel by classification, but it's also a crime thriller just like--whazzatsay?--'Tim' said."

He turned to Tim. "I'm not surprised you'd confuse it with Jane Eyre, considering that a lot of scholars believe du Maurier adapted it from Jane Eyre."

"Wait, really?" Tim said with a laugh. "I'm glad I'm not the only one thinking that! Rebecca is like the less boring version of Jane Eyre."

Jason froze halfway into sitting down in one of the arm chairs that lined the wall closest to the door and looked up at Tim as if he had just suggested burning down the library or something similarly unthinkable. "Whaaaaaat?! I can't believe you just implied that any of the Brontë sisters' works is boring!"

Tim laughed again. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I was only twelve when I read Jane Eyre, so maybe I'd enjoy it more if I read it again now--with a mature perspective--but I remember Rebecca being a blast for thirteen-year-old me so…" He smiled, then shrugged.

Jason stared. "Twelve? Thirteen? Jeez. What else were you trying to read that young?"

"I mean, I read Moby Dick the year before that, in sixth grade," Tim admitted, shrugging until his shoulders hit his ears.

Jason gave him a flat stare. "Moby Dick? Moby fucking Dick? You've gotta be kidding me. And lemme guess, you also thought Herman Melville's masterpiece was a load of crock?"

Tim laughed, but shook his head and waved his hands placatingly. "No, no, no. I only understood, like, every fifth word--so.many.whaling.terms!--and it took me four months to get halfway in only to realize there was no way I was going to finish it by the end of the school year--I ended up skipping to the end and guessing for a lot of the AR test questions--but I definitely got the sense that it was a seminal work and that I was just too young to appreciate it. I've always meant to go back and try it again, but I still haven't gotten around to it."

"Why the hell were you trying to read Moby Dick at the age of twelve?" Jason asked incredulously, leaning back in the chair and taking a long sip of his coffee.

"Eleven, but, ah, well, my mom was convinced I had to be The BestTM in everything, so she pushed me to max out my Accelerated Reader level by the end of sixth grade and demanded that I always get the most AR points of anyone in my class, so I read a lot of the 20 point-and-up books." Tim tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I think Moby Dick was 47 points...Rebecca was 25...Jane Eyre was 33..."

Jason stared, shaking his head slowly. "So…what? You're fine with Moby Dick, a romance of the American Renaissance, but a gothic romance of the British Victorian era like Jane Eyre isn't good enough for you? Next you'll try to tell me you think Wuthering Heights is a snooze fest!"

"Well, I mean, I never could get into it, so…"

Jason slammed both hands down on the arms of his chair, incensed. "Okay, Mister, get your butt over here and sit down, we need to have a talk about Victorian Gothic and why, hands down, it is some of the best literature ever written."

Tim laughed again, then bit his lip, considering the offer. He glanced around the nearly empty coffee shop. Then he leaned over the counter and looked out into the lounge--there were exactly four people there and only one of them wasn't completely asleep in their books. Yeah, he could probably afford to humor the man.

He turned to Damian. "Hey, Dames, I'm going to make myself a coffee and take my break. You good to hold down the fort?"

"I told you not to call me that," Damian snapped, but there was no real heat to it; he liked to pretend that he hated the guts of all his coworkers, but Tim knew that he was Damian's favorite. "However, yes, I think I can manage. Go take your damned break, but when you come back I fully expect a rematch in bowling…and don't you dare cheat this time!"

Tim rolled his eyes and groaned, then turned toward trying to coax Ol' 'Spressolino--their affectionate name for the cantankerous espresso machine--into spitting out a double-shot for him. "It's not cheating, but fine, we'll do it your way," Tim replied. "But I'm telling you, you have to buy those rice crispy balls. I definitely don't want to have to explain to Barbara why some of the food on sale looks like it went through the spin cycle in a dorm washer."

Damian grinned smugly. "My pleasure. It will be a small price to pay in order to ensure your swift defeat."

Tim shook his head, grabbed his espresso in one hand and two biscotti off the front counter in the other, ducked under the counter drawbridge, then slid into the armchair across from Jason. He offered one of the biscotti to the other man and Jason accepted the free food with an appreciative smile. He already looked ten times less zombie-like, thanks to the caffiene, and he was honestly pretty damn attractive.

"Okay," Tim said, peeling the wrapper off his own biscotti and dunking it into his bitter cup of joy, "Educate me."

Between sips of coffee and bites of biscotti, Jason began explaining his thoughts on the romantic period of literature, but barely a minute into his lecture, a plastic-wrapped, ball-shaped rice crispy treat about the size of a cantelope whizzed by their feet and crashed into the ten extra-large paper coffee cups arranged in a bowling triangle at one end of the coffee shop, scattering them in a definitive strike.

Jason jumped in his seat and looked around wildly. "What the fuck?"

Tim sighed. "Daaaaaaamiaaaaaaan…"

"Shut up, Drake! I'm practicing. I need to hone my skills and adjust my form so I can thoroughly crush you in our next round," Damian called back. He marched from the counter to the end of the shop to retrieved his plastic-wrapped projectile.

Jason blinked in confusion. "I repeat: what the ever-loving fuck?"

Tim sighed again, then explained, saying, "It gets pretty boring in here during the graveyard shift, so we invented a game, coffee cup bowling. Normally, we'd sleep or study, but Damian finished his exams two days ago and I don't really study for exams, per se-"

"And sleep is for the weak," Damian finished, nodding as he walked past them carrying his sweet, gooey ammunition.

Tim nodded sagely, in agreement. "Sleep is for the weak."

Jason glanced over Tim's shoulder at the coffee cup bowling 'pins' and then over his shoulder at Damian as he lined up another throw. "You guys are insane," he declared.

Tim made a dismissive gesture. "I mean this is my third graveyard shift in a row and Damian here is almost 20 hours into a 24-hour stint. After that much sleep deprivation, you'd lose your sanity too."

Jason tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Fair enough."

"If you want, you're welcome to join us after we finish our coffee and literature talk," Tim offered amiably.

Jason watched as Damian threw another strike, sending one cup so far it landed in the pot of the ficus in the corner, and raised his eyebrows. "You know what…why not." He turned back to Tim with a grin. "I could use a bit of fun before I go back to work on my Native American Lit paper."

"Are you a lit major?" Tim asked curiously.

"I am."

Tim nodded. "That makes sense."

"And you?"

"I'm a CS major--computer science."

"That makes sense," Jason echoed, grinning.

Tim grinned back at him and waved a hand. "Okay, so as you were saying…?"

"Yes, as I was saying…"

Jason continued his little lecture while they continued sipping their coffee and nibbling on the biscotti. When they had finished--the coffee, not the discussion, because Tim was pretty sure Jason would go on for hours about literature once you got him started--they joined Damian in a game of "ten-cup."

It was in the middle of this heated battle of cups and marshmallow-bonded puffed-rice cereal balls that their next customer found them fifteen minutes later. The man, dressed in flower printed leggings and a black hoodie with "Gotham University Aerial Arts" printed across the chest in blue, took one look at them and grinned.

"Oh, hey! Coffee-cup bowling! I love that game! Do you think I could interrupt you guys for just a sec to get some hot chocolate?"

All three of them--the two baristas plus their customer--turned and stared.

"Hot… wait, what?" Jason said, laughing a little. "Man, it's like 4:30 in the morning. Why are you getting a hot chocolate at 4:30 in the morning?"

The man laughed, too, shrugging before he explained, saying, "I don't like tea or coffee all that much, but I just finished a 20 page paper on ethics in police enforcement and I need a pick me up. I need to get my warm fuzzies going again."

Tim rolled his eyes and sighed, moving back toward the counter to get the man his drink. "You're going to end up being the cuddliest cop on the street, Dick."

"You know it, Timmy!" the man--'Dick' apparently--exclaimed, pulling Tim into a bear hug when he made the mistake of passing too close to Dick on his way to the counter. The hug escalated into a full on octopus hug as he lifted his legs to wrap around Tim's hips. Tim, for his part, ignored the grapple, opening the leaf in the counter and hobbling over to the drink bar with the human cephalopod still attached.

Damian and Jason stared. Damian cleared his throat and eyed Dick with poorly disguised interest. "Wait, do you know this man, Drake?"

Tim blinked dully as he turned around, a cup in one hand and a packet of instant hot chocolate in the other. "Yes. He's my brother." Dick made a squeeing noise and nuzzled his head into Tim's neck. Tim sighed. "My adopted brother," he amended testily.

Dick laughed, dropped his feet back onto the floor and stood up. He nearly wrung Tim's neck as he tried to hug him around the shoulders. "Awww, don't be like that, Tim. We haven't seen each other in two whole weeks and I needed my Tim-hugs! Gotta meet my cuddle-quota."

Tim shook his head and handed the hot chocolate back over his shoulder. "You're insufferably, insatiably clingy when you're this tired, Dick. Go home and sleep."

Dick finally released him to take the drink. He took a sip of the hot chocolate, sighing in appreciation. "Thanks, Tim, and yeah, but, only if you do the same. You're just as bad as me when you haven't slept, if not worse."

"Can't. Working," Tim answered curtly, vaulting the counter to escape before Dick's grabby hands could reach for him again. His brother wasn't wrong; Tim was always up for a good cuddle after a long stint without proper sleep, but he didn't like public displays of affection.

Dick took one look at the nearly empty coffee shop, the three of them, their game, and then laughed out loud. "Ahhh, the days of getting paid to drink coffee and make up games at 4:30 in the morning. I kind of miss it."

"Would you care to join us," Damian asked abruptly. Dick brightened.

"Absolutely!"

And so that was how the four of them ended up bowling for empty coffee cups with rice crispy treats the size of spaghetti squash while blasting ABBA’s greatest hits--Dick's terrible, wonderful idea--until the sun rose and their shift ended, at eight AM.

By the time the four of them walked out the door, Dick was trying to convince Damian to join him in the aerials gym before breakfast, and Damian, clearly eager to do anything with the handsome college senior, accepted readily. Jason and Tim, on the other hand, were back to discussing literature over coffee--now focused on the merits and downfalls of contemporary science fiction and fantasy as an art form--and making their way to the East Campus Dining Hall, so they could continue their discussion over breakfast.

Tim snorted softly as he listened to Jason list all the ways Dune defined an era of sci-fi/fantasy, then smiled at the way Jason took his hand--without seeming to realize it--to pull him forward after the crosswalk light changed out of Tim's line of sight. Oh, yeah, this one was totally gay/bi/pan and he was definitely asking him out the minute he saw the opportunity, Tim decided.

He smiled. Who would of thought he'd come out of last night's graveyard shift not only having seen his demon coworker and his older brother hit it off--of all things!--but having met someone for himself too! He laughed, thinking, you never know what crazy things you might see, or the people you might meet, at the campus coffee shop at 4 o' clock in the morning!

[londonfog-chan]

Passione x Reader: Sudoh Buck AU

This was too fucking good to let it rot in AO3 so now you all have to be subjected to my JoJo thirst. All characters aged up (otherwise how the fuck would they have this job??)

...

“So you’re not working my shift???”

“No... you’re actually my relief.”

Your best friend is clocking out just as you’re going to clock in. She looks dolefully up at you, nearly in tears from how the day has treated her. It’s her last shift for the week at the Passione Street location for Sudoh Buck, but you’re not sure why it was she had such a horrible time.

“He’s so mean!” She whispers as you lean down next to her.

“Who?!”

“The one on drive thru. He kept kicking me off bar because I made too many mistakes. I don’t know what I’m going to do for a whole three weeks with these people. I miss our store.”

The system is unavailable for you to punch in on the computer, so you’ll have to hunt down the punch communication log and you’re not exactly enthralled to be asking the dudes at the front. One of the guys, silver haired giant with neon lipstick, fucking glared you down when you went to the back. Had it not been for your coworker from the old store (Kimmy) walking out to say goodbye you’re sure he would have pummeled you.

“Yeah?” You ask, slightly bristling as your friend continues to look sad. “Well fuck me I guess. I’ll have to find out where that damn book is and go talk to one of them, and then you’ll be out and I’ll have to deal with this shit all by myself. At least you had the luxury of working with our crew...”

You can’t help the bitterness in your voice even though you know your friend is hurt. It’s been one fucking thing after another. You kept asking everyone where to go, and after being ignored and given a gang face, you’re not altogether sure you like Passione location after all... it’s in a location where you used to live as a child, not too far a commute from your current house where you live with your mother, and it’s the newest location established. But the newness is a fucking facade. You already have a bad impression by how they treated your friend, you can’t imagine they’re taking too kindly to being invaded by a new store. A friend working the S. Platinum location told you the other day he heard some blonde bastard of a shift complaining that the Ogre Street crew was stealing all the tips from the regular crew.

From a customer’s perspective, this is a coffee drinker’s paradise. Everything looks bright and new, when you walk into the cafe area, the front where they have the registers and the pastry case is on one big countertop that’s shared with the espresso bar and cold bar. In back of the bar is the drive thru window, and at the end of the espresso bar there’s some seating arrangements where customers can watch their drinks being made. It’s a typical Sudoh Buck color scheme. Lots of greys and white, the customers flock to it looking to get their fix, but under the facade there’s apparently a bastard crew working it. On top of that, the remodel for your location is going to take longer than anticipated. What else can you do but just rough it out with strangers you don’t even know?

“Well... I guess I’ll go home now.” Your friend murmurs sadly.

“Yeah. Bye.”

Your friend gets up and gathers her things, looking at you wistfully before mouthing “good luck”. In a few seconds she’s gone, and you’re standing there in an unfamiliar back office, apron in hand, wondering how on earth you’re going to survive the first day without anyone from your old store to help you.

“Oh hi there!”

An unusually cheerful voice jolts you out of your stupor as you come face to face with an unfamiliar associate. He looks fairly young, black messy hair held back with a bandana, and he looks you up and down with a sly look in his violet eyes.

“You’re one of the baristas from Ogre Street Mall yeah? Are you looking for the book?” He asks, cocking his head to the side as he ties up the strings of his apron. His black metal name tag has green chalk marker on it too small to make out, so you can’t tell his name right away.

“Yeah, I started a few months ago at that location. And yes, that would be helpful.” You tell him your name, and you can’t help the jump in your pulse when you hear him roll it off his tongue.

“That’s a pretty cute name.” He flirts, coming up on you with his fist up. “Nice to meet ya, I’m Narancia.”

You have to smile as you fist bump him (hey, it’s impolite to leave a homeboy hanging). Immediately you feel the strongest connection to him; Narancia is the first helpful and friendly face you’ve met so far in this location. And if he’s this cute and working a shift with you, you fully intend to stick by him wherever he goes.

“That’s not a bad name either my guy.” You smile. “Now about that book...”

“Come with me to front, we keep the book by the register in case anyone can’t get into the system.” He casually drapes an arm around your shoulder and you instinctually lean into him.

Hey, no one’s ever flirted with you before at work, and there’s no harm in it if you’re single. You know he’s probably smiling wider than fuck, but you could really care less at this point. Embarrassment ended when work jaded you. When you’re working 36 hours a week for minimum wage you tend to lose things like dignity.

“Here, make sure you check off this part with ‘New Store Labor’. Want me to get the ASM so he can tell you where to go?”

“That’d be great.” You insist. “I really appreciate you.”

“Stay right there!”

He runs off to the same isolated corner where you can hear the guys running drive thru taking orders. Before you write your name in the book, you notice that Narancia doesn’t clock in on the computer. The entire week is him filling out his punches in the book, one of many indicators that he was a barista who hated the new update for the punch log on the iPads. This indicates he’s the best kind of barista: the lazy fuck who can shortcut anything and come out on top. A few others prefer the book too, and you can’t help but admire the immaculate handwriting of this “Leone Abbacchio”, and you wonder if they’re as nice as their handwriting.

While you write in your punch, some dude with a funny looking orange beanie looks at you from his spot by the convection ovens, and you notice he’s muttering to himself on what looks like a gaming headset. When you make eye contact with him, he looks away as though he’s been caught committing a crime, saved by the loud beeping of the oven. He takes the tongs he’s holding and takes out some croissants, bagging them and putting stickers on the front before running them past you.

Narancia seems to be taking his sweet ass time with the assistant store manager. There’s another young looking guy, a blonde, at the point of sales system, the cafe is dead but bar is bumping, you can see other baristas pumping out drinks like their lives depend on it. Occasionally one will hand a drink off to a counter out of sight (probably to neon lipstick asshole who gang faced you earlier). The blonde leans against the counter, looking at you up and down the same way Narancia did. Vaguely you wonder: why did your friend say these guys were assholes? The blond and Narancia, along with the warming guy, seem perfectly content to check you out, and frankly you’re enjoying the attention. Fuck a duck, the guys here are hot!

“You’re the barista from Ogre Street?”

The question comes from the blonde at the POS system. You nod.

“Yessir. Just coming on board until the remodel happens.” You reply. “What’s your name?”

“Call me Fugo. You?”

He smiles when you tell him your name, but evidently you’re going to have to wait your turn to talk to him. That’s the beauty of working a coffee shop, customers just crawl out of the woodwork and line up at the POS system, and you smile when you hear Fugo’s very lovely “Welcome to Sudoh Buck, what may I get started for you today?”. It’s pretty awkward just chilling out by the pastry case. Typically you just jump into the first unmanned task when you walk into your store, but this is entirely new territory. Even the espresso machines are different here, you heard talk that soon all the new Sudoh Buck locations are getting what’s called Mastrena 4’s, whatever the shit that means. All you know is it’s supposed to make things a hell of a lot easier, and that you have to have it mastered before the remodel is completed.

“Sorry we kept you waiting for so long, you must be so confused.”

You’re pulled out of your stupor and suddenly face to face with the most gorgeous assistant store manager you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s got what your coworkers would call a “Karen” haircut, but he wears it well, and apparently he doesn’t mind it all too much that you’re staring at him like he’s a piece of meat in a butcher shop. He’s tall, all legs and arms with broad shoulders in a black turtleneck sweater. Narancia is almost overshadowed by the ASM’s beauty (he returns wearing the same headset as the guy on oven duty), but you sneak a glance at him too just for a minute.

“Y-yea... I mean, no it’s cool. I just, it’s like was anyone going to tell me what to do? Or was I supposed to have a sense of purpose myself?”

... Jesus Christ on a crutch... you note that the ASM must really appreciate your blunt humor, because his blue eyes are even smiling as he laughs. Narancia can’t help but laugh too, and with both men looking like snacks whenever they smile you’re about to drop from being so weak in the knees.

“I think you’ll be a great fit here.” The ASM smiles, “My name is Bruno Buccellati. You are...”

Your name rolling off his tongue makes you weak again. Oh lort... how does any barista get work done around here with all this man candy???

“Before we start, what position are you most comfortable with?” Bruno asks.

You’re about ten seconds from blurting out something nasty: spit roast sounds nice, Narancia and oven guy can watch.

“Ok...” you steel yourself, fully prepared with a speech you’d rehearsed in the car only an hour before. “I’m gonna keep it real with you chief, I don’t know how to do anything in a drive thru, and I don’t know how to run the new Mastrenas. If someone can show me I can do bar, otherwise I’m down to help on cold.”

Bruno seems to take this into consideration, looking over at the line that’s forming on front. Narancia looks too, immediately hopping onto bar where he starts steaming milk and pulling espresso shots from the machine without anyone having to ask him. His quick response triggers that look in Bruno’s eyes, and he nods you over towards the bar.

“I think I’ll have you with Narancia on cold bar for now. He’s going to be cafe and drive thru bar, so whatever he needs help with, just pull the stickers and he can show you where everything is. We’ll kill this line, and then I can give you a more permanent assignment. How’s that sound?”

“Gotcha!”

You instantly spring into action, much more confident now that you have direction. Narancia is pulling stickers out of a square machine and pasting them to cups, handing the plastic ones to you where you spring into action. Getting into a sequence, you start a drink, begin another one, work on the first, then start a third, going on like this until you’ve got a rhythm. Pumping out teas, fraps, refreshers, anything iced at all. Your hands fly over your work, and you almost don’t hear the praises that are being showered on you.

“Damn look at her go!” Whistles Narancia, “Hey Mista! Check out bar star over here!”

The guy from warming is over your shoulder as you hand out a drink, calling out Tom’s 20 ounce passion hibiscus tea. He smiles at you for a split second, too dazzling for words, then runs back to the oven when his headset lights up.

Vaguely you wonder how the hell your friend had such a rough time here at this location when there’s so much nice man candy to look at.

[jacktherph]

jack, my friend!! i hope all is okay. i'm wondering about your experience as a barista?? are there things about its portrayal in the rpc that are inaccurate or annoying to you?? being a barista is probably the most popular job characters have on here!! what impact does being trans, ace, queer have on your workplace environment if you don't mind talking about it?

oh man olivia, oh man. you’re gonna have me GO aren’t you?? i’m doing better ilusm bb

okay so disclaimer that i’ve only been a barista at sun-dollars (think of synonyms) for a year now. i’ve never done it at some fancy, privately owned shop, and my experience isn’t that of everyone else!! i’m also pretty damn low on my totem poll, too, so keep that in mind

so when i was hired, i worked at a small cafe store for a few months; small outside patio, small parking spaces, located in a tiny strip mall off a main road, maybe a max crew of 20 or less?? but now we all relocated to one of the busiest drive thru stores in our district; large outside patio, giant inside seating, one of the only stores with a conference room in the CITY, a drive thru that pretty much… never stops, and a stand-alone building on the same main road. and wow what a difference there is

this thing ended up being super long so it’s under a cut

note:: this is really for people looking to portray accurate, non-dramatized versions of barista life, and the whole thing is largely fueled by personal experience. hope it helps??

on THE JOB ITSELF :

if you think its an easy job, please get out of my face. if you think it’s super complicated and hard, there’s a bit for you to learn here. and most importantly–if you think fucking with a barista is fun, go to hell

firstly–there is a lot to remember. there’s the drink standard; how the drink is supposed to be made without any customization. then there’s whatever people add and change about it. then there’s “i asked for five mocha pumps but this tastes like you didn’t put five in, remake it.” and then there’s “i think i know how a drink is made, but i don’t, but i’ll still tell you how to do your job.”

there is a specific routine for making drinks called SEQUENCING that we’re supposed to learn as soon as possible. it ensures that, if you’re on bar, you are always making part of a drink and finishing another. steam milk, queue shots, turn and start blending a frappuccino, while that’s in the blender turn back and finish the hot drink, hand it out, steam another milk, queue more shots, turn and pour frappuccino, hand it out, etc etc etc

personally, i’m not the best on bar. i know people who are stunningly gorgeous at it – who can sequence without fail. but it requires a LOT of mental work. not a lot of room for talking unless there’s only one drink or two to make. any character who is “skilled” at being a barista probably doesn’t spend their shift talking, but working in hasty silence when it is busy

being on register is my personal skill. i always work drive thru orders. yes, we have specific buttons for everything, but with as many combinations as sun-dollars has, there’s still an infinite number of ways to mess it up if you don’t know what you’re doing. and if the order comes out wrong, it gets made wrong, and then the barista on bar gets the brunt of the abuse from the customer and has to mess up their sequence by remaking it

on TIPPING YOUR BARISTA :

at sun-dollars, we’re paid just slightly above minimum wage and a huge chunk of our money is tips, which at a store of our size are still under a dollar earned an hour, then divided by how many hours you worked, and how many people worked that week and their hours too. tips don’t always add up to much, because people never think about tipping us

but here’s the thing. we make everything by hand just like someone would at a restaurant. sometimes more than once if one little thing is wrong. we burn our hands on hot coffee and water, we slip and fall, we haul heavy things around. even if you don’t see it, we do it. so please… tip your barista because we make everything and serve it to you just like at any other food business

on MONEY EARNED :

a part-time barista position, maybe working 25-30 hours a week with included tips, is NOT ENOUGH TO HAVE AN APARTMENT ON. not anywhere outside of fantasy land anyway

take that example. if i get 10.55/hour, and work 25 hours one week and 16 the next (which is a GOOD week for me, holy shit), and my tips are… $15 for both weeks, then I’ve made around… $475~ after taxes are taken out. no. so many of my fellow partners have second, third jobs. or their spouse earns the majority of the money. or they still live at home–like myself. it simply isn’t a job you can live on independently

i.e. this is a callout to the “barista who somehow lives without a roommate and doesn’t constantly complain about how hungry they are” trope

on WRITING ON CUPS :

yes, sun-dollars used to write on cups. but now we have a sticker system that is ten times more efficient. yes, we still write on the cups if our machine goes down, or if we have a messed up drink, any number of things. but it isn’t common for a busy store to write on cups daily anymore

that being said, let’s talk about our big fave trope: muse a writes their number on the cup for muse b because they flirted at the handoff plane. YOU CAN GET FIRED FOR THIS. it is immediately a fireable offense, no questions asked. i know it ruins the CUTESY moment but it’s a thing. best to keep your ship intact and employed by having them ask when the barista is on a break. 

yes, we misspell names. it happens. whether your fingers slip up on the touch screen or you just didn’t hear it right. but no barista i know would risk their job and security by purposefully writing a malicious name on a cup. end of

on CUSTOMER CONNECTION :

the cafe store had been around for years in a community where snowbirds (old people who come to the warmth of arizona for the winter) are the largest customer base. that, plus the small crew, meant that the partners (baristas) had a long-established rapport with many of the customers. i remember on my first official day working, so many people kept telling me “my usual” and my partners had to keep reminding the customers to order properly, since i was new and didn’t know them yet

but once i got to know the regulars–and it definitely took a lot of time–it showed me the incredible connection people have with their baristas. we joke that as baristas, we’re unpaid therapists with a coffee in hand. people tell their barista SO MUCH. but it’s fascinating, really; sometimes it’s just plain oversharing, but sometimes you just get to be connected to a person you see every day, even if it’s only for a minute or two

now, at my drive thru store, i have my personally labelled “night regs” who i see pretty much every time i work. i know their names, their orders by heart, and sometimes stuff about their family or lives. and for those who are grateful, you’d be surprised the brightening affect on someone’s day it can be when you remember their order and ask them about something they mentioned last week

recently, a family who comes through my drive almost every day suffered a loss in their family. i could tell something was different because they weren’t joking around with me. they ended up sharing and it brought us really close. they even came to visit me when i worked on christmas day. recently, they had a family bbq and actually drove all the way to the store to bring me a plate of leftovers because of an inside joke we all have. i don’t give them discounts–big no no–or free drinks. they pay like everyone else. but we’ve grown really close and they make my work day nicer because i know i’m making people happy

so often when i see people writing baristas, the character is a certain archetype: the aloof one, the bubbly one, the romantic one, for examples. but i think the connection between a barista (even an introverted one like myself) and a regular is really undervalued!! the fact that we have worked so hard to maintain that customer personal connection with our regulars even though we have thousands more people a week has really shown me a lot about how people interact with one another

on RUDE CUSTOMERS :

it takes a LOT to kick someone out of a store. like a LOT. we’ve only ended up kicking out one person because they were repeatedly stealing from our food display, and then we could only do it once we got proof. so no, being rude to the barista once isn’t an offense that can get them removed. somehow

people are rude. collectively. some are nice, but people are rude. whether it’s the cranky person who insists they ordered their drink iced but the sticker says hot, the person who repeatedly asks “is my drink ready?” even though the sticker line is as long as i am tall, the person who demands their drink be remade for any reason valid or otherwise with a big attitude, or the drive thru car who has an attitude because they expected to be in and out but their wait time is 15 minutes because the car ahead of them ordered for their entire church. people will find a way to be rude, even if they don’t know it

what do we do? we smile, apologize and take blame, and do it over. especially at sun-dollars; the customer IS ALWAYS RIGHT. welcome to the service industry

on ACCEPTANCE :

i’m very lucky when i can say sun-dollars is a very accepting environment. being a trans and queer partner, i had my identity accepted right away by my coworkers. i also make it a point to let them know that if they have any questions about my identity, they can ask it to my face within reason. this has led to some really heartfelt interactions with my fellow partners, because it was how they learned some things about identities other than theirs

customers… well it’s touch-and-go. i live in a primarily… single-minded area. but i know i’m not the only one who knows this – being trans in a workplace is a touch-and-go thing. i’ve had people who only hear my voice call me “miss” at the speaker and correct themselves to “sir” at the window when they see my beard. i’ve had stubborn old people refuse to say my name. you still have to serve them, and personally, i avoid correcting people to avoid any sort of confrontation

my specific workplace is very personal; we know a lot about one another’s personal lives. what else is there to talk about when cleaning? some partners have been insensitive, but we talk it out and it’s done and fixed. sometimes we snark at one another using personal jabs, but that’s something we all participate in. and we know where the line is and not to cross it. but i’m sure many workplaces are like that

on ETC :

you will get messy. i end a time on bar with my fingers sticking together, my arms covered in fake-tan from chai or frappuccino roast pumps, and one partner told me once she went home to find mocha in her belly button of all places

you clean the bathrooms too. in all their shitty mess. and people treat public bathrooms terribly. but doing bathrooms is also a good release from the business of the bar

that drive thru headset? paid-for walkie talkies. yes, we gossip, we laugh, we trade jokes. we rag on customers out of earshot. let us have fun

WE DID NOT INVENT OR TAKE PART IN THE SECRET MENU. we cannot make your drink unless you tell us how it’s made. we’re not gonna google your weird invention when we have other things to do. you either come prepared, or you get something else

if you’re going to pay separately for a large order, TELL US FIRST

there will always be that one partner you hate working with. it happens in every job. there will always be that crew you love working with. you don’t always get to choose when that happens. c’est la vie

if it’s closing time, customers need to LEAVE. this is an issue of safety for when we work with money. even your best friend, your spouse, or your elderly mother cannot be inside the store during closing

at sun-dollars we have a weekly thing called the “clean play,” where people come in after the closers and do a deep-clean of the store. we rock out to music, enjoy there being no customers, and have fun. good setting for fellow workers!!

don’t give us pity on holidays. you’re the reason we’re there

i once had a woman come in half an hour before closing, and she was so mad we didn’t have the food box she wanted that she called corporate to complain. we now have more waste at the end of the night because we have to order so many boxes so we never run out

sometimes you’ll have to run out before or during a shift to pick up product from other stores

people take it personally when you finish a seasonal beverage. really personally when you’re out of anything, really

seeing regulars outside of the workplace will always be awkward. some even ask if you remember their drink. you might

people will complain about things out of your control. smile and nod and say you’ll let your manager know

when in doubt, give it to your shift supervisor

ADDITION :: my wonderful friend @morbidrpa​ wrote about her experience as a barista/manager in a smaller, single-location coffee shop. go check it out for varied experiences!!

[imagine-loki]

Bruna

TITLE: Bruna CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Ch 1 of 5- In Which the Customer is not Always Right AUTHOR: staria ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine working in a coffee shop and having Loki as a regular customer. You screwed up his order the first time you ever prepared a coffee for him a few months ago so he really dislikes you but as time passes by he starts talking more to you and doesn’t seem to hold that big of a grudge anymore.

RATING: Teen?

NOTES/WARNINGS: There’s some mildly strong language like f bombs and such. This is a quick doodle of what Bruna looks like.

——–

I was in a hurry and needed everyone to get fuck out of my way. The morning was cool, the sun slowly rising  as I was quickly walking- no, running- to Midnight Cafe, a small coffee shop where I was currently one of the baristas. My phone alarm had failed to go off because I forgot to charge it, so of course I woke up an hour late in a frenzy with barely any time left to brush my teeth, put on the first thing I found on the floor and bolt out the door.

As I sped running down the street I double-checked what had I put on this morning: black leggings, a sleeveless oversized olive colored shirt over my black sports bra, and red keds… could be worse. I braided my waist-length teal colored hair on the way to work.

Not that I was proud or anything, but I was so used to doing this that I could do it in my sleep.  

I barely made it on time, but glad that I was not late for the third time this week. If I had to listen to my manager, Brad, say one more time that the early bird catches the worm, I was gonna have to bitch slap him around.

I put on my apron as I punched in my arrival time and immediately went to my work area so I could read the screen with all the orders and quickly start dispatching beverages.

My first order of the day was a cappuccino, a latte, and a frozen hot chocolate, so I began getting the cappuccino and latte ready while my best friend and coworker, Jessica, finished the frozen hot chocolate. She glanced at me and gave me a huge grin and I waved back at her, no need for words. That was my Jessica, always happy, always positive.

I really loved being a barista, it’s all about getting the orders ready as fast as possible during rush time, especially during the mornings. As a chronic over thinker this gives me a break to just be in the moment without analyzing every little detail around me.

It also gives me a break from hearing people’s thoughts here and there. Yup, I’m one of those. But nothing too bad, I just hear tidbits of people’s thoughts here and there. I swear, I’m the worst telepath ever, I have no control whatsoever over this thing. It took me the longest time to figure out that I was a telepath and not just hearing voices in my head.

Once rush began dying down and people began heading to their respective jobs, I decided to go to the back and get myself something to drink because I was totally parched. I got some cold water while secretly wishing it was something stronger like vodka.

As soon as I get back there’s a few orders waiting so I start to work on a coffee for a non-regular. It’s a double shot espresso with two shots of cream and spice caramel for Lucky. I chuckled to myself as I was getting the drink ready because some people have the silliest nicknames ever, I’ve seen worse but this one was still kinda dumb.

After the espresso machine finished brewing the coffee shots, I poured the coffee  in a bone white cup, I added two shots of cream and a few pumps of spice caramel syrup. I cleaned the side of the mug and got ready to hand it to the customer.  “Lucky!” I  yelled, “Order for Lucky!” while putting the drink on the pick-up counter area for the customer.

I was already adding whipped cream to a coffee when I clearly hear in my head a guy thinking about how stupid I must be to screw up his drink. The thing is I just make whatever it says on the order screen, not my fault that Amy, our new employee,  screwed up an order again for like the fifth time this week. Now I’m was gonna have to fix her fuck up. Awesome.

I was super mad but I slowly turned around, ready for whatever bullshit this guy was going to say to me. I see a guy glaring at me like I just insulted his mother. He was actually kinda hot in a goth kind of way. Tall and lean with bright green eyes, black hair, and pale skin plus tall all dressed up in a black three piece suit. He would have been my type, all dark and handsome, but I could tell he was an asshole which was an automatic turn off for me.

He just stared at me without saying a word and I wanted him to get the fuck out of my way as soon as possible so I talked to him in my sugary customer service voice.

“I’m sorry sir, is there anything I can help you with?” I said, I following the question with a super practiced innocent smile.

He sneered at me, and drily answered, “First off, my name is Loki, not Lucky.”

There was a dramatic pause before he gave me a very menacing smile and continued, “This drink is completely wrong. I was very specific when I said that I didn’t want any of those nasty syrups like spice caramel or whatever they are called.”  

The jerk then slammed the cup down making it splash coffee all over me.

“But here I am, drinking pure sugar.”

I grabbed a towel and began cleaning my apron as he continued, “I want a new drink before you give anyone else their drink.”

I wanted to throw the freaking coffee cup with the scalding liquid at him, but I really needed this job so I took a deep breath and settled with imagining different way to tell him to fuck off.

I threw the mug in the sink before quickly remaking the order without the spice caramel and handed it to him. He glared at me before leaving without even saying thank you at all. What an ass.

After he left I was just glad to be done with the idiot and got on with my day. I thought I would probably never see him again.

But of course I was wrong.

The next day at work I was busily making a latte and had completely forgotten about the jerk from the day before when I saw him come in the coffee shop. So much for not seeing him ever again.

Luckily for me, Jessica was the one that got to prepare his coffee. I get a tidbit of Jessica’s thoughts, she’s way too excited about being the chosen one to get the jerk’s order. He was hot alright, but again, an asshole.

He decided to stand right next to my prep station on the other side of the counter to wait for his coffee. I swear he went out of his way to stand there just to coldly stare at me, judging, waiting for me to acknowledge him. I tried to concentrate, willing myself to not listen to his thoughts but I heard loud and clear that he still thought I was the worst barista ever.

He was pissing me off so much that I accidentally dropped a hot coffee drink and got it all over myself. Make that two days in a row that I get a drink all over me thanks to him. When I turned around to grab a towel I couldn’t help but look in his direction only to realize he was giving me a smug look.

He used the moment to say, “It looks like you need to be more careful with those,” while pointing to the cup in my hand, “or you might get hot liquid all over yourself.”

Once more he made me want to throw a mug at him but Jessica gave me a stern look as she was handing him his drink. Sometimes I feel like she’s the telepath.

As soon as she showed up he completely ignored me and directed all of  his attention to Jessica. He thanked her while slowly nodding his head at her like she was fucking royalty.

He then tasted his coffee and dramatically sighed before saying, “Mmmm. Now this is how I like my coffee. Thank you for a perfect cup.”

He then glared at me before he walked to a table where he sat down. The asshole was really getting on my nerves.

When I turned to Jessica ready to start my rant I noticed that she was smiling like Loki had just asked for her maiden hand. I was so furious that I said to her, “Oh my God, Jessica, really? He compliments your coffee once and you get your fucking panties all wet? Jesus, I thought you had better taste.”

Her cheeks got all red but she quickly fired back by saying, “Ugh, Bruna, don’t be jealous. He said he liked the drink, nothing else. You can make Mr Dreamy Eyes his drink tomorrow if it’s that important for you.”

I sarcastically laughed before saying, “Fuck no! You can make him his coffee everyday for all I care! He’s such an asshole.”

As I said this I glanced where Loki was sitting only to realize he saw me looking at him. I tried to smile but he just scoffed at me before getting back to his book. He was too far away from to hear us but I felt like he knew we were talking about him.  

“Jessica, I swear, he’s the biggest asshole ever” I said, as I stopped working on the Flat White I was preparing, “Look at him all smug in that corner. Didn’t you see the evil look he just gave me?”

Jessica stopped pouring chocolate syrup to a drink, and said as she rolled her eyes, “Oh my God, really? He’s so not staring at you.”

She glanced in his direction, looked back at me, and continued,  “Are you going to obsess over him like you did with the woman that liked the plain untoasted bagels? Because that whole thing was not fun. There’s only so many rants that I can tolerate from you on the proper way to eat a bagel.”

“No! I was not obsessed! I just… really disliked her. She yelled at me once,” I said, then I  whispered, “She was a total bitch.”

Jessica guffawed and was about to say something else when Brad kindly yelled at us from the cash register area to remind us that socialization should happen after work. Someone was being crabby today.

We got back to full swing getting orders ready, not a single word between me and Jessica but I continued  thinking about Loki. I usually don’t let customers get to me but for some reason he was getting under my skin and I wanted to punch his smug face. I glanced at him one last time only to realize that he had been looking at me. He smirked and slowly went back to his book.

Oh yes, I definitely wanted to punch his smug face.

[offbrandbarista]

Talking to Corporate: Email Edition (part 2)

Wednesday

Hi Amy!

This is OffBrand Barista from store ###. I know my coworker emailed you about a Vietnamese cold brew blended. I wanted to tell you about a kid friendly recipe I discovered. If you take a vanilla bean blended and add cherries and a pump of chocolate sauce it tastes just like Cherry Garcia ice cream. I bet it’d taste great with coffee as well! Hope you enjoy!

Best, OffBrand Barista

------------------------------------------------

Hey OffBrand Barista,

That sounds delicious. What do you call it? Do you get a lot of requests for this from customers?

Amy

------------------------------------------------

Hey Amy,

I just call it what it is, a vanilla bean blended, add cherries and chocolate sauce. That way people can order it at other stores too. I don’t get a lot requests for it by name, it’s more something I suggest when we get starbucks regulars looking for a replacement to the Strawberries and Cream Frap.

OffBrand Barista

------------------------------------------------

OffBrand Barista-

Wow that sounds like a great suggestion. I’m going to let my daughter order it next week. Would every store have cherries or just yours?

Amy

------------------------------------------------

Hi Amy,

Every store will have cherries because we use it in one of the best selling blended drinks, the Black Forest. Speaking of, a lot of people like to order a “white” version which is the same drink with vanilla instead of chocolate. I’ve also had some requests for a “Dark” version with the dark chocolate. Just thought you’d like to know what customers are coming up with!

Best, OffBrand Barista

------------------------------------------------

OffBrand Barista-

Wow those are all great suggestions! That’s really cool customers come up with it! Although I’ve never had a black forest myself. It’s too strong for me. I’ll have to try a white forest sometime.

Amy

[cofferi]

i asked my coworker “why do you always talk about making $500k a year as if that’s totally within the realm of possibility”

and he’s the same age as me, went to the same school, works at the same company, is currently in the same entry-level job

“for people like us” is what i didn’t say

and he said “you gotta reach for the stars” or something to that effect to which i did say “we’re not astronauts.” to be honest, he’d incorporated some weird metaphor about looking at a building and then looking at the sky and i don’t know. he has big dreams, he wants to be CEO, he wants to be the best, doesn’t matter what he does.

and look. listen. i settled. i’m always looking at my future with the goal that i’m going to settle, maybe a couple years from now i’ll settle in a place slightly above where i am now, but overall it’ll be the same. my only real hobby is that i write, though i can’t bring myself to tell anyone about any of the things i do besides eating, sleeping, and working. and this is mostly because i know, i KNOW, all they’re going to tell me is “why don’t you become a writer” and then i’ll have to break their hearts and tell them “no i’ve never wanted to be a writer, i’ve never wanted to write for a living” and i’ll be the biggest disappointment they’ve ever heard. they’ll nag about it being a waste and they’ll make me feel bad. in their eyes, i’ll be the very thing that our shit capitalist society has destroyed that philosophers and the romantics say makes life worth living--art and music and creativity

WHY CAN’T i just become a writer? WHY CAN’T i pursue my dreams and do what i want to do and WHY AM I spitting in the faces of so many young adults and actual adults who haven’t yet found something they’re passionate about, as if everyone’s just waiting around to find their dreams so that they can pursue them as soon as possible?

except that i probably could become a writer if i really really wanted to. i’m privileged enough, i’ve never had to give up my dreams in order to feed my family or to please my family’s high expectations. writing has just never been a dream for me.

i’ve always wanted to sit in an office, behind my own desk, riding up an excruciatingly long elevator to get to a floor overlooking the whole city with floor length crystal clear window panes. i want to be bottom tier of a high tier place, not the other way around. i want to do boring work in an exciting place, not the other way around. i don’t want to make 500k but i want to make enough. i want to live a normal life that’s secure and respectable. and all of this shows in my plain ass stories about every day life, where my characters aren’t dancers or ice skaters or pianists, but apartment dwellers and baristas. i’m not a dancer or a pianist, but neither am i an apartment dweller nor a barista

and to this day, i can’t bring myself to even consider doing writing as a living, even though i like it and i think i’m at least above average at it. and even if i wasn’t very good at it, it’s really the only thing that i do in my spare time that i COULD make money off of. i could make shit money. but at least i’d be living a life where i’m doing something i like? isn’t that the goal?

but while i’m currently working away at some corporate job feeling like something’s missing and what am i supposed to do now if this isn’t fulfilling for me, i don’t think i’d feel any different if i was sitting at home or some coffee shop trying to pump out a manuscript every day. i couldn’t do that, either. it’s not a matter of try-it-and-see-if-you-like-it because i already know it’s not the kind of life for me. i absolutely cannot sit around all day every day forever. i absolutely cannot rely on someone else’s income while i piddle away my time on something that probably won’t get anywhere

in a lot of ways i can’t relate to the katsuki yuuri that chose ice skating as a career. his characterization will always, always be missing something if he’s in an au and not in some career in the arts. it makes me a little jealous and a little bit envious that he, someone with anxiety and lack of confidence, was able to push past it to that degree. even though i’ve been arguing this whole time that i’ve never even seen it as a choice for myself, at the same time i feel like it should’ve been. i feel like i should’ve given writing as a way of life more thought, but i couldn’t.

so now it remains nothing more, and the reasons for it are crippling fears of failure and the absurd desire to be another cog in the well-oiled machine that is functional society. i don’t want to be exceptional, i can’t be it, and it doesn’t matter how many indicators i get that i like writing and the fact that i do it at all should be enough to make something of it in this existence where all we do is live and die. so i’m stuck because i want it to be something more, i want to at least wish it could be something more, but i can’t even get that far. it’s debilitating. and i don’t have any excuses at all to give. i can’t even acknowledge to myself that i write let alone to other people let alone to make something of it. and basically all i ever do is write and write and write anyway and hope that i figure something out along the way