On Leave: A Novel. Chapter 5: The Coffeeshop

I trudged down 5th Avenue and heard a small gurgle in my stomach. I whipped out my phone and looked at the time. Damn. It was already 12 o’clock. The therapy session seemed longer than I thought. I saw in the distance a coffee shop, so I thought about going because I wanted to grab a bagel or something and just eat it on the way home. I walked further down the street, and stopped in front of it. Lost Dreamers Coffee. Not a very optimistic title for a shop that promotes drinking a stimulant that has you bouncing off the walls.

The bell tinkled as I walked in. There was not a long line. People lounged about in bean bag chairs, they sat at tables drinking their coffees and nibbling their blueberry muffins. It was quite relaxing. The Starbucks down the street on the other hand. That’s a whole nother story.

The walls of the café were a beautiful mural, one with blue oceans, goddesses with blond wavy hair holding large earthenware bowls of fruits, vegetables, and grains. Cows, llamas and various others animals milled around her on the mural.

“Welcome to Lost Dreamers Coffee!” a girl behind the counter called out.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

I went up to the counter.

“What can I get you today?” She was an attractive young woman with pink hair and a silver nose ring.

I stopped. “Uhhhhh….”

I felt like Patrick Star in the Krusty Krab training video where he’s at the counter and Squidward asks him “May I take your order?” in a frustrated way, and Patrick goes “I’ll have uhh-uh–uhhhh” and ends up drooling and zoning out.

“Take your time,” she smiled with the patience of a Zen master.

I looked at the menu. Turkey bacon wrap. No, that’s meat. I’m trying to be a vegetarian with Derek, so I can’t break my friendship pact like that. Blueberry muffin. Eh, alright, but I need some kind of protein to go with it.

And then I spot it. On the menu are the words “grilled cheese: a blend of Havarti, Swiss, Cheddar and Provolone on our handmade sourdough loaf. You don’t want to miss this.”

Well, I did love cheese even though I am technically lactose-intolerant.

“Ok, I’ll have that. And maybe…drink-wise, I might need more time.”

“Want some recommendations?”

“Uhhhh…okay, sure,” I shrugged.

“We’ve got a mint mocha latte with a garnish of fresh crushed Oreos, gummy worms and coffee.”

Was this Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory? What kind of drink is that anyway?

“We’ve also got a vegan Reuben sandwich which is pretty good–“

“Scratch the grilled cheese, I’ll take the Reuben,” I cut her off. I just wanted to sit down and eat and drink something with a peace of quiet mind.

“Okay, cool beans!”

Who says “cool beans?”

“And what drink would you like?”

I looked up at the menu again. This hippy-dippy menu was starting to get confusing, with its chalk drawings of unicorns and rainbows and peace signs. Yuck.

“I guess I’ll just have the one you recommended. The super sweet mint one.”

“Oh, the mint mocha latte! That’s one of my favorites. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.” She gushed in her fake-it-’til-you-make-it barista voice. I bet when she got home she sounded like a grizzly bear on crack cocaine, ready to never talk to another customer again. I couldn’t fault her though. She was doing her best to cheer up me, the Grumpy Little Brat.

“Coming right up! And can I get your name?” She wrote on the rainbow disposable 16 ounce cup.

“Tabitha,” I lied. This was New York City. Anyone who walked in this shop could be an FBI agent. Not that I did anything illegal, I just didn’t want people knowing my real name.

“Okay, Tabitha, we will have your vegan Reuben sandwich and your mint mocha latte out in about fifteen minutes. I’m Sam, and if you have any questions just come and see me!”

“Thanks,” I grumbled, and walked over to find an empty table. I found one by the corner and sat down. I looked around at all the people in the coffee shop. There were bespectacled millennial college students sipping their reusable coffee mugs and typing at their laptops. I bet they were trying to make up for sleeping past that midnight deadline. I absorbed the sounds of Charles Mingus’ “Moanin'” in the café. The soothing sounds of the trumpet and drums calmed me down. I took the novel about Dmitri Shostakovich I was reading out of my bag. I am a nerd about composers, so I often read both non-fiction and fiction books about them. Shostakovich attracted me because of his youthful appearance and also his willingness to speak truth to power through his music. He had an acronym he used throughout his pieces called DSCH which was his name. He couldn’t use an explicit political expression in his pieces because the Soviet Union was under Stalin’s rule, and if he did he would have gotten killed or put in prison. I wrote a final paper on Shostakovich in my Western classical music course and got my first and only A minus in the courage. Guess I shouldn’t have dozed off so much in class.

“Okay, Tabitha, I’ve got your vegan Reuben sandwich and your mint mocha latte,” A guy with piercings announced.

I walked over to the side counter.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Have a good one!” he smiled through his piercings.

“You too,” I said in a soft voice. I was always anxious in public places, and Charles Mingus wasn’t making me any less nervous of them.

I sat down and took a bite of the Reuben. Mmmm, it actually wasn’t that bad. And I also sipped the mint mocha. Ah, it was hot! I felt my tongue get that furry feeling, that feeling where it even hurts to have your tongue in your mouth.

I finished my food while reading my novel, and then when it was done, I remember what I came in here for: to ask for a job. Duh.

I saw the cheery pink-haired girl steaming milk behind the counter.

“Hey,” I said.

She didn’t hear me over the noise.

“Hey, you!” I said louder.

She looked up and looked flustered.

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry, I was so caught up in what I was doing I didn’t even see you there. What can I help you with, ma’am?”

“I was wondering how I can apply for a job here.”

She looked surprised.

“Oh, yes, we had our Now Hiring sign in the window. Just come back with your resume and we can set up an interview for you.”

“Okay, do I need to wear anything professional?” I asked.

“No, just some jeans and a T-shirt would be fine.”

“Cool. Thanks,” I said.

“No problem. Have a great day!”

I left the coffee shop.