A story
Enjoy another peek into the “clutter in the attic” of my writer’s mind.
Custom Coffee – A Story Start
Ashley’s new bright-red Reeboks squeaked on the clean teal tiles of the coffee shop floor. The cafe had been open less than two minutes, and there was already a line five deep at the glass counter where she’d put the delicious baked goods LuLu delivered twenty minutes before.
Two women in the front were clustered around the vintage chrome and glass display case pointing at the vanilla-glazed Long Johns arranged on green Depression Glass plates. Ashley had felt like a lottery winner when she’d found several of them in mint condition at an estate sale last week. Other customers hung back, hard to see as the sunlight streaming through the front window threw them into silhouette.
Charise, or was it Charlotte this week? Ashley couldn’t remember. Her assistant changed her name as often as the young woman changed her haircolor, which for Char was exceptionally often.
Despite the clerk’s flightiness over her personal life, Char performed her half of their team choreography like a pro. She called out a coffee order, which Ashley started creating before the hand-written order slip came careening toward her on the miniature zipline above the serving station.
After giving the barista machine an extra quick purge, Ashley grabbed the dry hand-towel with a printed pattern of big-eyed cats and slid it over the machine’s grill before tucking it away and placing the first paper cup of the day under the spout.
Char and Ashley danced around each other in the close space. They made a great team. Char took the orders, kibitzed with the regulars, and served the yummy pastries. This left Ashley to do what she loved most, make coffee creations that delighted the recipient.
As the two women worked their way through the morning rush, Ashley made drinks, painted art on top of the coffee foam with cinnamon powder and barista magic, and swiped her varied collection of vintage towels over the machine’s spouts, grill, and the bright pink linoleum of the countertop.
Ashley was in her groove when Char called out an order that caused the café owner to bobble the manual press of the espresso cup. A tall Macchiato with half cow, half almond milk. Ashley’s head whipped around, and she scanned the waiting crowd. In all the time she’d owned the shop, only one person had ever ordered that drink that way.