BANGERZ (2014)

8. Afraid

"Hazelnut and almond are pretty fucking different," I mutter belligerently as I pump the flavoring into the macchiato I'm preparing.

"What was that, Tessa?" Peter asks from the cash register on the opposite end of the counter. He sounds so cajoling and uppity, like he knows I said something smart. As if I would repeat it. At least he's getting my name right.

"Nothing," I answer. I have to suppress the urge to roll my eyes as I attach a lid on the cup, slide on a heat-protectant sleeve, and hand it to the customer who actually had a simple request. But Peter just had to make things difficult.

"Here you go, sir," I say pointedly. "Your hazelnut macchiato with three pumps of almond, extra whip. Enjoy."

The guy nods to me gratefully and I turn back to the machine to clean up. Peter glares at me from the cash register with his arms crossed over his chest. I try my best to ignore him, wiping off the dispenser and refilling coffee grinds, but his gaze is burning a hole in the side of my head.

Eventually I sigh and turn to face him. "What? What is it?"

He breaks his glare and starts untying his apron. "The sass is unnecessary, Tessa. First impressions are the last ones, you know. You've been here for what, a week?"

I look at him in disbelief. Sass? What are we, fifth graders? Is he going to make me put a dime in the jar every time I do something he doesn't like?

"I'm not sassing you," I protest, civil. "You were complicating things. What's the big deal with almond... and hazelnut." I say it plainly, not like a question, so he knows how stupid it sounds.

"It's not the flavoring, it's you attending to special requests. We have to draw the line somewhere - otherwise people will start asking for ridiculous things."

Like you? When you ask me to take the trash out all the time, over-organize the cups, or sweep the floor until the paint starts scraping off?

I look at Peter warily. I'm so not in the mood for his bullshit. It's midnight Saturday, I'm tense and antsy again, and the later it gets the more I feel myself ready to snap.

"I thought the customer was always right," I point out. "There wasn't an issue until you interfered. Next time if I actually have a problem with a customer, I'll take it up with you, Peter." My tone is cordial but my smile is sarcastic.

"I'm gonna take inventory on the stock in back," he tells me, scowling. "As overly generous as you are with the flavoring, we probably don't have any hazelnut or almond left." And with that he stalks past me and disappears into the freezer.

I flick my middle finger at him behind his back and contemplate locking him inside. Isn't this verbal harassment? Whatever. He can talk to me like that if he wants to - my Adderall will do the talking back, and I'm not going to be sorry about it.

I look around the coffee shop. Business isn't slow, but it isn't steady either. Most of the customers we had tonight ordered on the go instead of sitting in, so it's empty and quiet. With its dark furnishings, heady aroma, mood lighting, and soft music, Hard Rock Caffeine is the kind of place that could put you to sleep. Ironic I know, since caffeine keeps you alert and occupied.

I decide to clean up a little - only because I don't want to hear Peter bitch about "free labor". Honestly I only put up with him because I need this job. Otherwise I might've been hanging out with Jason and his crew. I wonder what they do on Saturday nights. Do they handle more business or do they just have fun like we did last night? I guess I'll find out soon enough.

As I'm sweeping up two guys come into the shop. My eyes widen but I keep my cool - I recognize one of them as the guy Jason beat up in the alleyway. He's Caucasian, lanky, pouty. His light-skinned friend is taller, buffer, and has a more fervent expression. They're both wearing red bandanas.