Nobody Died

Ned collects his things as he prepares to leave. “I’ll be back from my meeting as soon as I can,” our store manager says to me. “Sooner, if I have to.”

“Oh, you’ll have to. Or you’ll be cleaning up my dead body. Or hers.”

“Gina, you’re the supervisor. I need you to keep morale up.”

“I know. IknowIknowIknow,” I shake myself out like a wet dog. “I’m good. It’s fine. We’ll be good. Go kill your meeting.”

“You got this, Gina. Remember, it’s just coffee.” That’s one of Ned’s common sayings, and it grounds me for a moment. Then, Boss Man walks out the door, and despite having several months of this supervisor gig under my belt, I feel like a kid left alone without an adult. 

I turn to my remaining two comrades-in-arms. Kal is a hero. Reliable; loyal; funny; a good friend. Meredith is, well, the potential dead body I alluded to. Slow, due to age and inexplicable aloofness; unable to read the room; sympathy hog; thinks she’s my friend.

Sensing the shift in energy, the two of them look over and see my forced smile. “Well,” I say. “It’s just us for three hours.”

“Lovely,” Kal deadpans.

“Can I go to the restroom?” Meredith asks. 

I blink once and clench my jaw, suppressing so many emotions at once. From behind Meredith’s shoulder, Kal is looking at me with wide, incredulous eyes. 

“Yep,” I say. She couldn’t have gone ten minutes ago when we had five people working the floor? I watch her go like she’s a pedestrian crossing the street before I can take a left turn. No urgency.

When she’s out of earshot, I let out a whisper-scream, and Kal just looks at me with a void in his eyes. “It’s just…” I squeak, “…coffee.” 

Kal slams an oven shut harder than necessary. The drive-thru alert sounds over our headsets. It begins. 

“Welcome to Starbucks…” and we’re swept up in a whirlwind of drinks and food and customers who don’t care that we’re severely understaffed. We start sounding like a broken record with the number of times we say, “Thanks for your patience, here’s your tall five-pump triple mocha with no foam and light whipped cream, double-cupped.” 

Meredith takes her sweet time in the restroom. 

“What can I do?” she asks when she finally returns. 

“Cold brew keg needs replacing, Kal is drowning in drinks, milk fridge is empty, and lids need re-stocking. Welcome to Starbucks. Give me just a moment. Can you start with one of those?” 

“Okay.” And she ambles off. The lack of speed in her gait is at such odds with the insane level of business coming through; it feels like a comedy sketch, with the noticeable absence of laughter. I would laugh if it were appropriate, but she’s caught me out in the past.

I allow myself a short outburst of breath. Twelve minutes down, one-hundred-sixty-eight to go. 

Time starts to blur together, with every half-hour feeling like a more intense copy of the previous. To be clear, Meredith is not useless. Her presence is better than no presence at all. However, it comes with unwanted commentary. Business finally quiets down for a few minutes, and I brace myself for…

“Well,” Meredith says. “That was something. I think we did a good job.”

The counter to my right is covered in melting ice, chocolate, drops of tea, spilled java chips, sprinkles, and dried strawberries. “Mm-hm,” I reply, dabbing the sweat off my upper lip.

“You know…” Meredith starts. 

Kal immediately walks into the back room and starts loudly scooping ice. I’m left to brace myself for what’s coming. The joys of leadership.

“The only reason I’m here is that the cost of living is so damn high,” Meredith says.

“Yup,” I agree. I started sopping up the cocktail on the counter as she stands there doing nothing.

“You know, my son lost his job again?” Yes. You told me. “He had covid, so he couldn’t work. And then he got fired for that. Isn’t that awful?”

“It really is.” I walk to the opposite end of the floor and start re-stocking the teas.

“Oh, I could’ve done that.”

Then why didn’t you? “It’s okay; I’ve got it.” 

“I can do it.”

“Sure, okay.”

I turn on my heel to start stocking the milk fridges. She follows me into the backroom, either for the teabags or…

“So, now I’m the only one making money in my house. And it’s just not enough, you know?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” My hands are full of milk jugs, and I chuck them into the fridge and go back to get more.

“Since he’s had covid, we’ve been very careful, so I barely see him even though we live in the same house.” 

“That’s hard.” Please, let a customer come soon. I would tell her to stop trauma-dumping, but that didn’t go well the last time I tried. She doesn’t understand that I’m her leader, not her friend.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had a hug.”

Fuck. I pretend not to hear her. “Kal! You just got a mobile order.”

“Coming!” Kal emerges from the backroom and starts to work on the mobile order drink that had just been printed. I busy myself with organizing the basket of cup sleeves. 

“It’s really hard, you know?”

“Yeah, Meredith, I’m sorry for you.” I tell her this every damn day. I’m not her therapist.

“Gina?” 

She’s going to ask for something, isn’t she? 

“Can I have a hug?”

FUCK. NO. I sense Kal’s eyes on me as he pours a latte. Meredith is standing right next to me, so I am literally in a corner. Fucking fine. I turn toward her and let it happen. The hug feels like a lie. To the outward eye, I’m comforting her, but inside, I’m screaming, “get a better therapist”. 

Over her head, I see the door open. 

“Boss Man!” I exclaim and pull away from her.

“The meeting ended early. Y’all good?”

“Eh,” says Kal.

“We were lost without you,” Meredith proclaims. Way to have faith in my leadership. Nobody ended up dying, did they?

“We’re alive,” I tell him. 

He starts putting his apron on to help us out, and Meredith walks over to him, “Ned, can I talk to you in the back?”. 

The ding of the drive-thru sounds over our headsets. As I walk past Kal, I pat him on the shoulder in solidarity. 

“Welcome to Starbucks…”