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“EXCUSE ME, TEDDY?” The customer leaned over the counter, squinting at my nametag. “Is that short for something?”
“Theodora,” I said.
“This coffee is cold.” He handed the cup back to me with a snooty look that told me he thought he was my intellectual superior.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll get you a fresh cup right away.”
Turning my back, I scowled. What a jerk. Here it was, five minutes to closing, and I had to make this creep a new drink. That meant starting the espresso machine all over again, waiting for it to brew, and then cleaning it again. It wasn’t even, steam was coming from the top and it was warm in my hand.
Had he never worked a customer service job? Didn’t he know that if I waited to clean all the machines until the very end, I would be here until ten o’clock at night? Or maybe he just didn’t care.
“Hey, Teddy,” Samantha said, popping in from the back. “I’m all done in here. I’m going to clock out a little early.”
“It’s not even eight yet,” I said, trying my best not to sound like I was complaining.
Dumping the customer’s old cup in the trash, I didn’t even bother to empty it. I was going to have to do the trash again as well, so it didn’t matter that there was one more item to deal with. And the night had been going so well.
“Yeah, but I have a date. I want to get home so I can shower and change.” Samantha went straight to the cash register to clock out.
I sighed. There was no point in arguing. If I forced her to stay with me until the grumpy customer left, she would just be in the way. It wouldn’t do anything for our rapport either. Samantha wasn’t technically a friend, but she was an okay person to work with. I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot.
“Fine,” I relented. “Go.”
“Wish me luck!” she cheered, pumping one fist in the air.
“Good luck.”
Samantha paused on her way out, giving me an appraising stare. “You’ll find someone.”
“I’m not interested in finding someone,” I told her. “I just want to get out of here alive. That guy just asked for a fresh cup of coffee. He’s going to sit in the lobby for at least another fifteen minutes, if not longer.”
“Do you want me to wait?” Bless her heart, she surfaced from her own plans long enough to ask if I needed help.
“No, I’ve got it,” I told her. “I don’t want you to be late.”
“You’re the best!” she sang as she marched out the door.
“Yeah, yeah,” I whispered under my breath.
I didn’t want to be the best. If I was just a little bit more assertive, I could have told the customer that we were closing soon and the espresso machine was off for the night. There had to be some rule somewhere about making people do extra work.
I had actually poured a few cups to sell before cleaning the thing, and that was probably why the coffee was cold. But what did he expect? He came in at quarter of eight at night. Who drinks coffee then?
Struggling with myself and my diminished expectations, I managed to work my way through the process. I grabbed the new cup and took it out to the lobby. The guy was sitting there reading a newspaper, an actual newspaper with creases and ink, not on his phone or tablet. That explained it. He was trapped in a time warp and moving slow as dirt.
“We’re closing at eight,” I said.
“It’s eight right now,” he replied.
I inhaled sharply, holding my breath for a moment so that I wouldn’t snap at him. “Enjoy your coffee.”
I couldn’t lock the door with a customer inside, so that meant that there was a risk of someone else coming in. No matter who walked through the door, I was going to tell them that the kitchen was closed. No more croissants or cookies, no more drinks. I wasn’t even going to sell bottled water.
I couldn’t count the cash either, since it wasn’t safe to do so with a stranger there. So I did the only thing I could do and began cleaning the espresso machine all over again. It took me almost no time since I was highly motivated.
I had already swept the floor, but I swept it again just to pick up any traces of coffee grounds. I grabbed the trash and walked it into the alley. I did a quick sweep of the kitchen to make sure everything was clean and put away. Sam had clocked out just a smidge too early, but she had done her job.
When I returned to the front of the store, the customer was still there. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he had just walked into his own living room and was making himself at home.
I had a strong desire to march up to him and kick him out on his massive behind. But I couldn’t afford to lose this job. I had fallen too far, and I needed the money to pay my rent. It was hard to believe that just four months ago, I had a much nicer corporate job.
Retro was a tech company that did a bunch of things, including hosting web pages and curating content. They had a small art department where they scanned old paintings and made them into computer wallpaper and clip art and things. Since I considered myself an artist, even if I only had a few showings to my name, I was drawn to that aspect of the business.
I used to sneak away at lunch sometimes and walk down the hall to the art department. They were always doing something interesting, and it was hard to see why they were such a small part of the bigger picture.
I wasn’t involved in the production angle; I had been an administrative assistant to one of the higher-ups. But that all changed when Retro was bought out by some hot new investor.
I only saw him once, when he called us all into the break room to fire us. I think he only kept two or three people on, maybe four or five, but the other hundred or so had to pack their bags that same day.
It was miserable. I saw the hallways full of people I had come to respect, each with a cardboard box in their hands. Closing my laptop for the last time, I realized that I was never coming back.
We’d gotten together for a drink at a pub across the street. Like a swarm of locusts, we descended on the tiny restaurant, filling the booths and packing in at the bar. I ordered a beer to begin with, but soon realized that I needed something stronger.
My next drink was a martini, and with a heavy heart, I knew it would be the last for a long time.
“Who does that bastard think he is?” Mike from Accounting demanded.
“This isn’t the end of that,” Sharon from Sales swore. “I’m going to sue.”
“He’ll tie you up in litigation,” the COO’s ex-secretary said. “It’s not worth it.”
“At least he’s giving us a severance package,” I replied, feeling the comforting hands of the alcohol reach into my brain.
“Severance package?!” Mike cried, slamming down his drink. “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t seen a dime.”
“I have two kids in private school,” Sharon sobbed.
It was getting real, and the more we drank, the worse we felt. It was the middle of the day, and by all rights, we should have been making calls to customers, filing memos and sending emails. But we were packed into a tiny bar, crying onto each other’s shoulders.
“I’m just saying it could be worse,” I muttered.
“Never say that!” both Sharon and Mike screamed together.
The COO’s secretary turned away, disgusted by my remark.
“What?” I asked.
“It’s only going to get worse if you say that,” Sharon told me.
“I’m going home to tell my wife what happened.” Mike set down his drink and put a five on the bar. Even in such dire financial circumstances, he was tipping like a high roller.
I watched him leave, unable to summon the energy to admonish myself for my slip-up. I didn’t believe in that kind of hocus pocus. I could say whatever I wanted to; nothing would change the facts. We were all out of a job, and with the economy the way it was, we weren’t likely to rebound quickly.
I stayed to finish my drink but discovered that it was too painful to hang around my former coworkers. So I went home and spent the rest of the day in bed. I sent my resume out to a bunch of job openings I found online. None of them were exactly what I was looking for, but that was okay. I could learn the heating and ductwork industry if I had to. I would take a pay cut. I could even make collection calls for a credit card company if they would hire me, but after a week of radio silence, I needed a new game plan.
The guy who fired us had given us each a month’s salary. The health insurance benefits would last for six months, so I wasn’t worried about that. It wasn’t exactly a golden parachute, but it did save me from being homeless.
Still, I needed some additional income if I was going to continue paying rent. Sitting in my apartment searching the Internet for work wasn’t going to cut it. I’d waitressed all through college, and even though I’d hated it, it was something to fall back on.
Dressing casually, but not too casually, I hit the streets to look for an hourly wage job. There were “now hiring” signs on a bunch of windows, but I didn’t think I had sunk so low as to sling French fries. Beggars can’t be choosers, though, so when I passed an upscale coffee shop, I’d stuck my head in.
Samantha was behind the counter, with her multiple piercings and her short, cropped hair. I almost felt too conservative to work beside her, but I was desperate. Asking for an application, I was relieved when she smiled.
“Perfect timing,” she said. “Two of our night shift workers just quit.”
“Night shift?” I asked tepidly.
“One to nine,” she replied.
I sighed. Taking the application to one of the tables, I sat down and filled it out. I would be lucky to get the job. In my situation, it would allow me to pay for food and electricity. I could stretch my bank account by only eating in and canceling some of my subscriptions. It wasn’t ideal, but it was necessary.
I turned the application in, and Samantha took it with a grin. “We’ll call you. I can’t promise anything, but as long as you’re not weird and show up on time, I’m pretty sure you’ll be hired.”
“Great,” I said, faking enthusiasm.
Not weird wasn’t a skill I highlighted on my resume. It made me wonder what other kinds of people worked there, and if I was going to get along with them. Sure enough, I got a call later that day asking me in for an interview with the owner. She had the same attitude as Samantha and pretty much handed me the job.
That was three months ago, and while I kept my eye out for better opportunities, I was grateful to the coffee shop for giving me a respite. I had no intention of staying there, but the job market being what it was, I needed time to find my next secretarial position.
None of that mattered at eight-thirty when the blasted customer still wouldn’t leave. I had to turn away one couple who stumbled in from the bar next door.
“Great! You’re still open,” the guy said, with his arm around his girlfriend.
“No, I’m sorry, we’re closed,” I told them.
“But your door’s open,” the girl replied.
“I know.” I nodded my head toward the older man, who was still reading his newspaper.
“Say no more,” the woman agreed, dragging her lover out the way they had come.
I’d had enough. Marching up to him, I put on my best customer service smile and demanded that he leave. “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to ask you to go. I really have to close up the store.”
He didn’t seem upset at all, but he didn’t apologize either. He merely folded his newspaper and set in on the table. Getting to his feet, he walked out without saying another word. I put my head down into one hand, feeling the relief wash over me.
Why didn’t I just do that half an hour ago? I was too friendly for my own good. It took me less than ten minutes to close up after the dude left. I grabbed his newspaper and threw it away, wiped down his table and half a dozen other ones around it that I hadn’t been able to get to, locked up, and left.
In the parking lot, mine was the only car left. I was proud of it, though if I could go back in time and convince corporate me to save my money instead, I would have. It was a cute green Kia with all the bells and whistles. I was still paying it off, and at this point, the money could have gone to better things.
I was holding on, convinced that a new job was just around the bend. But if I had to continue working at the coffee shop much longer, I was going to have to consider selling it. The thought made me sad, so I brushed it aside.
It was a constant struggle not to let my circumstances get me down. I’d moved out of my apartment two months ago to save money. My brother and his family were gracious enough to let me stay with them.
“It’s only temporary,” I'd promised.
“Don’t sweat it.” He’d shrugged off my discomfort. “You’d do the same for us.”
“If all of you had to move into my apartment, it would be a little squished,” I’d said with a laugh.
I’d had a beautiful little one bedroom in the city, overlooking a garden. The sun stretched long into the living room in the mornings, and in the evenings, I could see all the office buildings lit up. There was a gym with all the latest equipment, and a sauna and hot tub for residents to use. I missed it terribly, though I couldn’t tell my brother that.
I tried to put on a brave face every time I sat down in a living room that wasn’t mine. When I looked for something in the kitchen, I had only half a shelf in the fridge that belonged to me. Chloe and Cassie, my nieces, didn’t know any better and often ate my yogurt. I didn’t have the heart to draw the line, and when their mom, Sunny, scolded them for it, I told her it didn’t matter.
“Well, you can have some of our yogurt,” Sunny problem-solved.
“It’s no big deal,” I replied, reaching for an apple. “I won’t starve.”
I loved those little girls, and they were a constant delight. Still, there were times I would have liked to go home and take my bra off, hop in the shower, and plop down to watch something mindless on television without having to be Aunt Teddy.
Hey Ted, Corey texted before I started the car.
I rolled my eyes. I hated it when Corey called me Ted, and he knew it. Teddy was bad enough, but did he have to take it one step further? He thought it was hilarious to confuse people about my gender. I didn’t see the humor.
What? I wrote back.
You’re late. Everything ok?
Fine, I said. Just some jerk who stayed late.
Can you pick up some marshmallows on your way home?
Ok? I added a question mark to indicate confusion. Picking up marshmallows was no big deal, but it wasn’t like Corey to be unprepared.
We’re having our regularly scheduled campfire, and I forgot the treats, he wrote back.
I shifted the car into gear without answering him. Dropping by the gas station, I searched the shelves for marshmallows. Finding them horrifically overpriced on the bottom shelf beside the cans of beans, I grabbed them anyway. I was too tired to go to the grocery store.
Wouldn’t you know it, but I ran into an old family friend. I thought his name was Paul or maybe Ray. He was the son of one of my parents’ neighbors, and from the looks of him was still living in his mother’s basement.
“Hey Teddy,” Ray/Paul said with a wave.
“Hey.” I stopped short before guessing at his name. “What are you doing here?”
“Just getting some gas,” Paul/Ray said. “What about you?”
“Marshmallows,” I answered evasively.
“I didn’t know you were back here,” he continued. “I thought you moved into the city.”
“I did.” I tried to sidestep my way out of the conversation to hit the cash register.
“So what brings you back this way?” He moved with me, clearly eager to reconnect.
“I’m just visiting,” I lied.
“How’s the job?” he asked.
I could kick my mother for bragging about my position with Retro. There wasn’t a person in the neighborhood who didn’t know that I was an executive assistant at a major tech platform in San Francisco. I didn’t want to fill him in on all the gory details. If he didn’t follow the business pages and wasn’t aware of the sale, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.
“Fine,” I said. “It’s going great.”
“Well, I won’t keep you.” He fell for it, and I felt kind of guilty.
“Thank you,” I said with a forced smile. “I really have to go.”
“It was nice seeing you.” Pau/Ray gave me another wave, acting friendly even though I was treating him like a pariah.
Great. I was exhausted and devoid of human decency. And I was about to spend way too much on marshmallows for a cookout that I didn’t want to go to. It was a toxic trifecta that had me steaming by the time I got back into my car.
I didn’t need to feel worse about myself than I already did, but it was hard to rescue my self-esteem when I couldn’t even remember the man’s name. Oh, well. If I didn’t come up with a new game plan soon, I would be seeing a lot more of him. Enough to figure out whether he was Paul or Ray or an as yet unconsidered third option. I wasn’t moving up in the world; I was struggling to keep my head above water.
