Starbucks was crowded. Tammy marveled every time she walked in the door. Either everyone was caffeinating their way to skid row or the media was blowing the economic downturn all out of proportion. She was pretty sure it was the former.
She was starving, fingers trembling, her vision blurred. It was the combination of three margaritas, too many chips with salsa and no real food the night before. She needed something solid. No croissant today.
A few minutes later she stood by the coffee bar. The cashier had dropped a bagel with a tub of cream cheese into the thin paper bag. Her coffee was up next. She was tempted to tear off a piece of the bagel, but then she’d had to juggle package and hot coffee and scrap of food. She was civilized, she could wait.
Suddenly, the lights blinked out. The espresso machine spit and went silent at the same time the chatter around her increased. A power failure wasn’t a shock in winter, when the wind was driving, rain pounding the building. But this morning already hinted at the promised seventy-four degrees. The sun was a benevolent presence rising to its place.
The patrons in line shifted their feet, tapping communication devices to get the time, looking anxiously over their shoulders, all their faces crunched into a plea – do something. What course of action was most promising, wait for the power to flick back on or drive to another Starbucks, join another line?
Tammy was so close, just one more minute and she would have been out the door, on her way, unaffected.
The barista stared mutely into the cup that should have been Tammy’s latte, a puddle of espresso, no steamed milk.
Can you just add milk, I’ll stir and it’ll be fine, she said.
The barista shook her head. I don’t think so.
Oh come on, said Tammy. She set her bagel on the counter and reached over to grab the paper cup. The barista held on tight. The top of the cup folded, bent into a spout, cracking where the light plastic coating rimmed the lip.
Please let me have it. I’m late.
I can’t. it’s against policy.
What do you mean?
We can’t charge you for an incomplete drink.
Well I already paid.
We’ll have to give you a refund, or a credit.
But the power’s out. I can’t get a refund and I’m late.
The barista moved out of Tammy’s reach. Just be patient. The power will be back in a minute.
Tammy backed away from the counter and turned. The bag with her bagel was gone. She glared at the people in line, some heading toward the door to leave, the lucky ones who hadn’t invested as much time, hadn’t forked over their cash.
Did you see who took my bagel?
No one answered. They stared, a crowd of wolves, eyes glittering, snouts tuned for the odor of weakness.
She needed food. Now. The baristas were huddled around the cash register, as if staring at it would bring it to life. She scurried, half slipping on the tiled floor, to the end of the counter, around the back and reached into the glass case. There was no time to be choosey. She grabbed three brownies, a slice of banana bread and a scone.
Hey! The man shouting at her was too in need of a fix to lose his place in line. No one would prevent her walking out the door with her stash of sweets.
She strolled to the door, popped the brownie in her mouth. As she chewed she turned and grinned at the man. This was better than a rush of caffeine. She pushed open the door and walked away from the odor of coffee and the line of people, waiting to pay.
© 2010 Cathryn Grant
Delightful story!
Now did you actually do this or just consider it?
Neither. It emerged from the situation as I wrote.
Oh, you mean it’s … fiction?
See how talented you are?