Monday
The cafe clock struck 8 o'clock in the morning, when a new customer entered the Sleepy Eye Cafe. Melody sat behind the mahogany coffee counter, the barstool gently squeaking as she slowly rotated back and forth, reading a graphic novel. The blue and pink characters on the front suggested it was some sort of fantasy romance set in a big city, but this New Face was annoyed that this airheaded teenager had the gall to ignore a paying customer. He would later say his name was Clark, and Melody would intentionally call him Clerk, much to his annoyance, and everyone else’s amusement.
“Ahem!” the New Face cleared his throat loud enough to disturb Grandmother Ganz in her winter nap by the hearth…in the back room.
New Face was ignorant of the sudden silence that befell the cafe patrons as they stared at his back, clad in a too stiff black suit covered in lint and beginning to wrinkle where he obviously had sat for his daily commute. To use the old cliche, “if looks could kill", some of the patrons would have been charged with Second-degree murder. However, most of the patrons mainly stared in varying degrees of surprise, curiosity, intrigue and annoyance.
Melody, however, still looked at her book. She finished her page. And then, slowly, lifted her eyes to the New Face. She stared. He stared. Then, with a lovely little huff that could only be described as indignant, New Face spoke again.
“I want an Americano. Hot. To go.” He was pulling out his credit card.
“Are you sure you want the Americano? Today?” Melody asked. She had moved to the register, and was now studying New Face with a look of mild concern. New Face did not appreciate the tone in which she had asked. Something had stirred in his gut, suggesting that he better listen to this teen. But the feeling was quickly overruled by the absurdity that a teenaged barista would know what was better for him than he himself.
“What? Yes! Just, give me my Americano.”
“Okaay…but you’re gonna have to drink it here. Can’t very well let a paying customer leave in this weather. Not with a good conscience. And I like adding up good karma points. Never know when they’ll come in handy.” Melody said. “Name?”
“Huh? Wha? Weather? Karma? Name?” Confused, New Face was lost in all this conversation between being told what to do, something about bad weather on a slightly chilly, but definitely sunny, autumn day, good karma, and now a name? This girl was weird.
“A name for the order?” Melody asked.
“Oh, uh, Clark.” He handed her the card. “I want it to go.”
While Melody made the man his hot Americano, Clark looked around the cafe for the first time. It was like any other coffee shop he’d seen…and not. He didn’t like it. And then he noticed the windows.
What was he seeing? Or better yet, not seeing. The world beyond the windows was nothing but white flurries. The panes of the glass had frosted. He could hear the howl of the winds seeping through the cracks. When had it gotten so cold? And when had it started snowing?
He found an empty seat and slowly sat, his eyes still fixated on the blizzard outside.
“Clerk.” Clark jumped at the voice. Melody was standing by the pick-up counter, a paper coffee cup in hand. Clerk was written on it.
As he was turning to leave the pick up counter with his newly acquired Americano, Melody stopped him.
“Seriously. You can’t leave here in that weather. You’ll get lost. Or worse.” She pointed to an empty table. “There’s an empty table. You can wait the storm out there.”
“Fine.” He took his cup and sat at the table. She returned to her book.
...
Soon after the clock struck 9 am, Melody noticed a rather pale and shaking Clerk quickly scurry from his table to the nearest trash bin. He kept looking around him. There was sweat on his brow, his tie had been loosened and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He gently placed the cup in the bin, leaving the lid, a half-opened creamer carton and two empty sugar packets on the table.
“Did you not like the coffee?” The man jumped at the sound of Melody’s voice. He turned and saw that she had seen his dastardly deed. Instead of answering, he stared horror-stricken. He took two steps back before turning and dashing for the door. When he opened it, a gust of fresh autumn air swept around him, bringing with it a couple of crisp leaves. He left the door wide open as he ran to his car, almost getting hit by a boy on a bike in the process.
Melody pulled the still full cup from the bin and gently shut the cafe door. She looked into the coffee.
“He really should have gone with the latte he wanted. It would have been kinder.” She tutted, almost, to herself.
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Monday
The cafe clock struck 8 o'clock in the morning, when a new customer entered the Sleepy Eye Cafe.
Melody sat behind the mahogany coffee counter, the barstool gently squeaking as she slowly rotated back and forth, reading a graphic novel. The blue and pink characters on the front suggested it was some sort of fantasy romance set in a big city, but the customer wasn’t interested in colorful manhwas or fantastical stories.
Instead, he was annoyed that the teenage barista would have the gall to ignore a paying customer. He would later say his name was Clark, and Melody would intentionally call him Clerk, much to his annoyance, and her amusement.
“Ahem!” he cleared his throat loud enough to disturb the quiet chatter of the other customers. He, ignorant of the sudden silence that befell the cafe patrons as they stared at him, waited for Melody to respond.
Melody, however, still looked at her book. She finished her page. Turning her chair with a painfully elongated squeak, her eyes slowly lifted to the man.
She stared.
He stared.
Then, with a lovely little huff that could only be described as indignant, he spoke again.
“I want an Americano. Hot. To go.” He was pulling out his credit card.
“Are you sure you want the Americano? Today?” Melody asked. She had moved to the register, and was now studying him with a look of mild concern. Something stirred in his gut, suggesting that he better listen to this teen. A sense of warning. But the feeling was quickly overruled by the absurdity that a teenaged barista would know what was better for him than he himself.
“What? Yes! Just, give me my Americano.”
“Okaay…but you’re gonna have to drink it here. Can’t very well let a paying customer leave in this weather. Not with a good conscience. And I like adding up good karma points. Never know when they’ll come in handy.” Melody said. “Name?”
“Huh? Wha? Weather? Karma? Name?” He was lost in all this conversation between a lingering sense of warning, something about bad weather, good karma, and now a name? This girl was weird…and scary.
“A name for the order?” Melody asked.
“Oh, uh, Clark.” He handed her the card. “I want it to go.”
While Melody made the man his hot Americano, Clark looked around the cafe for the first time. It was like any other coffee shop he’d seen…and not. He couldn’t say why, but this place was like her. He didn’t like it.
Then he noticed the windows.
What was he seeing? Or better yet, not seeing. The world beyond the glass was nothing but white flurries. The panes were frosted. He could hear the howl of the winds seeping through the cracks.
It had been a beautiful, cool autumn day. The sky was clear. The weather report had promised nothing but a slight chill, light breeze, and sunny skies. How… how was there a furious blizzard outside?
He found an empty seat and slowly sat, his eyes still fixated on the white wall of snow outside.
“Clerk.” Clark jumped at the voice. Melody was standing by the pick-up counter, a paper coffee cup in hand. Clerk was written on it.
As he was turning to leave the pick up counter with his newly acquired Americano, Melody stopped him.
“Seriously. You can’t leave here in that weather. You’ll get lost. Or worse. You can wait the storm out here.”
He took his cup and returned to his seat. She returned to her book.
...
Soon after the clock struck 9 am, Melody noticed a rather pale and shaking Clark quickly scurry from his table. He kept looking around him. There was sweat on his brow, his tie had been loosened and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He gently placed the cup in a bin, leaving the lid, a half-opened creamer carton and two empty sugar packets on the table.
“Did you not like the coffee?” The man jumped at the sound of Melody’s voice. He turned and saw that she had been watching. Instead of answering, he took two steps back before turning and dashing for the door.
When it opened, a gust of fresh autumn air swept around him, bringing with it a couple of crisp leaves. He left the door wide open as he ran to his car, almost getting hit by a boy on a bike in the process.
Melody pulled the still full cup from the bin and gently shut the cafe door. She looked into the coffee.
“He really should have gone with the latte he wanted. It would have been kinder.” She tutted, almost, to herself.