Run for the Money

Coffee Run

Her day was off to a rough start. First she slept through the alarm, now she learned it was her turn to make the daily coffee run. Brooke thought – she swore – her day was supposed to be on Thursday. Not Tuesday. The cash in her pocketbook told her so. She had five bills to her name. Luckily, she was able to scrape the rest together in loose change riding around in the bottom of her purse.

Of all the days, she had to make the run, everybody and his brother were waiting in line. They must have a new hire behind the counter. There was no reason for such a long line except for a trainee on the register. The waiting in line was putting her at odds with the report she needed to turn in by the end of the day. Couldn’t she go back empty handed and tell the crew that the coffee machine broke down and there was none to be had? No one would be foolish enough to believe that line. Not even her.

She needed a new job, one where she wouldn’t be a goofer. Maybe she should open up her own shop, or better yet, a restaurant. Everyone she knew kept telling her she would make an excellent chief. But it took money to make money, and she didn’t have money. Brooke lived paycheck to paycheck like most Americans. So much for living the Dream.

“Miss, Miss, may I take your order?”

Brooke was certain her cheeks were red. Flush was more like it. How long had she been standing there in line staring at the clerk behind the counter? “I have a list.” She slid the list across the counter to him to read instead of looking at it and rattling off the coffees she knew by heart. Her hand went into her purse to withdraw the change she had piled inside her wallet. She never expected the clerk to take all the money out of the register, put it in a bag and push it toward her.

“Don’t shoot me. Here take it. Take all of it. I want to live.”

“What the hell. I just want my coffee.”

The clerk quickly placed the two trays of coffee on the counter next to the bag of money. “Go, take your coffee and go. Don’t shoot me.”

This couldn’t be happening. What the hell did that paper say? She never intended to rob a coffee shop. If she takes the money, then it is a holdup. What should she do? She should have read the damn list before coming into the shop. If Harold set her up, and she found him out, she was going to kill him.

Why ruin her life over a stupid note? Jail was not in her best interest. Brooke pulled the money from her wallet and didn’t bother to count it to make sure it was all there. She slapped it down on the counter and never touched the bag. With a tray in each hand, she made for the door. Customers stepped to the side to let her pass.

But who would walk through that door on her way out? A cop stood between her and the street. Oh my God. Could her day get any worse? Thankfully he held the door open for her to exit.

She never felt so relieved to be able to set the trays down on her desk without further incident.

“Your coffee is here,” Brooke announced.

“What the hell took you so long?” Harold poked through the different coffees looking for the one he requested. “Where’s mine? I ordered a Hazelnut, not a regular.”

“I ordered what you had written on the list. So you get what you ordered.”

“How could you have given him the list if I have it right here? You never took it with you.”

If she had just held up that coffee shop for real, there was no way she would ever set foot in that place ever again.