Chapter Text
These jobs just work you till you drop. How am I supposed to pay for college anyway with this nickel and dime job?
There isn’t even social interaction anymore. All these automated machines taking orders. Who would want to order from a person when you can tap and it’s ready to go? And because of them, we get fewer tips.
I topped off the coffee with whipped cream. “Dream.” I slid the drink over the counter.
A skeleton wearing way too much yellow clothing skipped up to the counter. Staring at his phone, he picked up the drink.
As I turned away, I heard him say thank you. Don’t get that often.
I sat back on my seat at the register. Leaning over the table, I watched others walk in and out, glued to their phones.
I mean, it’s not like I like or want to interact with people partly the reason I got this job. So what do I have to complain about?
“Bonjour? Hello?”
I look up. A short skeleton with either a large birthmark or a lot of spilled ink on his face stood at the counter. Judging by the marks on his white shirt, it was probably a mix of both.
“Hi? Sorry, I’m not from here. I wanted to get a coffee. I know everyone is using the-the other things?” He gestured to the kiosks as he rambled, “But my English isn’t the best, so they are hard to read.”
He fidgeted with his walnut colored scarf, which was way too long. His eyes seemed to switch every blink from shapes to colors as his eyes darted around.
His brown trench coat was definitely not from any store near here. People still wore those?
I sat up, “I-uh ya, I can take your order. Do you need to see a menu?” No idiot, he can’t read. “Or I could?” I rubbed the back of my neck. This is why I didn’t like people.
“My brother wrote down my usual order; I mean he said most of the words are… same? But wanted to help with my first time ordering?” He took a minute to find which pocket before pulling out a paper.
I glance down at the order. Dubai chocolate mocha, extra strawberries. “That works.” I tap the order into the register. “What size would you like?”
“Grand-” he stopped, holding his hands out, showing the size as he tried to find the word. “Medium?” He looked at me for confirmation, his eyes forming a question mark, the other a swirl.
I nodded, tapping it in. “Anything else?” He shook his head.
“$4.56, can I get a name for the order?”
“Ink.” I wrote it on the cup.
He handed me $10. I took it, handing him his change and receipt.
As I walked away to make the drink I saw him fumbling with the change. He couldn’t figure out where it went in his stack of other bills he pulled out. He gave up, putting all the change in the tip jar.
I was starting to remember why I liked machines. They were way less awkward. Plus I hated getting written up for not smiling enough.
I started on Ink’s drink.
He sat against the window, his coat draped over the back of his seat. His long sleeves of his shirt were pulled over his hands as he watched oncoming traffic outside. The white shirt was stained with what I guessed was charcoal.
His eyes were a dull gray.
Another guy approached the counter. I rolled my eyes, always on my shift.
“Hey. Could I get an espresso hot chocolate, large?"
I stepped up to the register, putting in the order.
I looked back up as he slipped off his rather large black and white coat.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“Are you guys hiring?”
I shrugged before reaching under the counter. I slid the form to him, “Name for the order?”
“Cross.”
He paid, then leaned on the counter, waiting.
“Ink.” I finished his drink, sliding it over the counter before finishing Cross’s.
Cross grabbed both drinks, heading over to Ink. The light returned to Ink’s eyes as Cross joined him.
I finished my shift, heading home.
It was a Saturday, busier then usual.
Geno and I worked on the orders.
“Dream.”
The next order poped up. Geno worked on an order next to me. “You need to smile more.”
I rolled my eyes, “sure.”
“I’m serious. Who’s going to want to come back?”
“Literally no one cares.”
“I care, and I’m your boss.”
“I wish you were replaced with a robot.” Geno opened his mouth to reply, but I interrupted, sliding the next drink across the counter. “Carl.”
The same skeleton as before approached the counter. Was it so hard to use the kiosks? They had pictures. Geno was busy, so I was forced to take the order.
“Bon-hello. Sorry, I need to stop doing that.” He rambled, “This place makes their drinks with so much sucre, sugar. Not that that’s a bad thing at all.” He waved his hands, eye colors splashes of panic.
“Ya, most of these drinks here would give me diabetes.” I agreed.
He chuckled, “He mentioned that.” He seemed to lose his next thought as his eye shifted to a duller color.
Geno dropped something in the back, making the guy at the counter jump. “Sorry,” Geno yelled from the back.
The guy at the counter seemed to remember where he was and started digging through his pockets. “Sorry. Also, I swear I put the thing somewhere…” He removed some stuff from his pockets, leaving pencil lead and tiny paper notes scattered across the counter.
I sighed. This is what I get for working on a Saturday.
He looked up, finally noticing the mess he was making. He glanced at me with a nervous chuckle. “You know what, I don’t need it. Can I have a Dubai euh… chocolat? Extra fraises… wait, no.” He couldn’t seem to hold still, fiddling with his scarf as he thought.
“Strawberries?”
His eyes lit up, forming stars as he leaned on the counter. “Oh ya, strawberries.” This guy had too much energy; how could he possibly need more sugar?
“Size?”
“Medium? Oh I remembered that one, right?”
“Name?”
“Ink.”
“$4.56.”
He paid, putting all the change in the jar.
I walked over to Geno with the order.
“Dang, a $5 tip, must be some phenomenal service. Maybe you smiled?”
“I don’t think he’s used to the dollar, probably doesn’t know its value.”
“Oh?”
“He’s like, European or something.”
Geno chuckled, “I’m guessing our coffee tastes like crap in comparison.”
“He said the drinks definitely are more sugary, or as he said, ‘sucre.’”
“Geez, you actually talked to a customer?” Geno said, snorting. “What’s next, you get a better attitude?”
I feel my face redden. “Ya, ya, laugh it up. Not my fault he talks a lot.”
I finished adding the strawberries, slid it over the counter, and say, “Ink.”
Ink, sitting in the same corner seat, comes running up. I turned to work on the next order.
“Merci, thank you.” Ink shouted over the counter.
I hate closing. People always leave everything messy, and never clean after themselves.
I flipped the closed sign, closing the blinds before grabbing a rag.
Geno started on one table, tossing me a rag to work on the next.
“Sorry I didn’t expect it to be so busy today.” Geno said.
“You need to hire more people. Or give me a raise.”
“I can’t just give you a raise.”
“Then what is the point of being related to the manager?”
Geno sighed, moving onto the next table. “Maybe say ‘oh thank you for the nice job brother.’”
“Ya, no this job sucks.”
Geno rolled his eyes. “Oh by the way Reaper is coming back early.”
“Great.” I rolled my eyes.
"I know you don’t like him, but could you be at least a little nice?”
“No, because I promise you that you could do way better.” I started cleaning the last few tables near the corner.
“Ya and who would you suggest?”
“Literally anyone else. If you’re with him because he’s french, then date the Frenchy that keeps coming in.”
Geno placed down his rag, staring at me, “Is that why you think I’m with him?”
I shrug turning to the next table, “It’s not for his personality is it, because he is annoying af.”
I get to the corner table. A napkin sat with a few doodles of buildings nearby, along with a few origami stars made out of sugar packets. I pocketed the origami stars.
“I’m just asking please don’t fight with him. It’s really annoying for everyone else.” Geno sighs.
“As long as he doesn't start.”
Geno nods.
“And he isn’t annoying. And he isn’t flirting with you every five seconds. And he isn’t-” I wet rag hit the back of my head.
A week later Geno actually did hire someone. I had to train them. And I was late. Of course.
The subway rattled through the station as I pretended to be on my phone. An older lady entered the subway. She stood, gripping the bars.
I stood up, allowing her to sit without looking up.
“Hey, sir.” She yelled over the subway noise.
I ignored her.
“Hey, young man.” I glanced up to see her standing in front of me. Shorter than me, she leaned on her toes to seem bigger. Didn’t work that well.
I tried to ignore her, I did not want to cause a scene.
“Young man.” Others looked up from their phones. Some turned their cameras to record. Great.
Lowering my phone, I prayed I looked less annoyed then I felt, “Yes ma’am?”
She stepped closer, pointing a finger at my chest. “Don’t ‘ma’am’ me. How old do you think I am?” The old lady asked.
Her finger hovered above my chest. I stepped back, “I-I don’t know ma-um lady.” I felt the cameras.
The closer she got the more I dug my fingers into my hand.
“No really, how old do you think I am? Do I look elderly to you?”
“No, no. I just-” this is what I get for being nice. Idiot.
“You think you’re so nice, that you’re such a good person for moving for the elderly? Going to film it to show what a good person you are?”
“I, no ma’am.” Sweat gathered along my neck.
“I saw you and your phone. You weren’t really doing anything. You just want to record to get clicks.”
I backed up again, “Oh no, not at all.” I slid my phone into my pocket. Apparently that was the wrong move.
“Then what are you hiding then, creep. Were you taking pictures?”
The subway announcer waffled over the speakers. My stop was coming up. Why did people have to be so annoying. I bit my tongue, choosing not to engage.
The subway gates opened and I darted out of there.
The cafe’s back doors peeled, vines growing over the walls. I unlocked the door, kicking it but it would not open. My hand ran down my face as I sighed. This day was going to suck.
After a minute of trying I managed to budge the door open. This door really needs to be fixed, instead of wasting money on new drink ideas.
An hour into my shift the new person arrived. The same person from the other day arrived. They hung their black and white coat up and grabbed an apon.
He held out a hand, “Hey I’m Cross, from the other day.”
I stared at his hand, not grabbing it, “I remember you.”
He pulled his hand back, moving to rub the back of his neck, “And I didn’t catch your name?”
“Error.” Of course I forgot. “I guess I’ll start teaching you the basics to open up.” I sigh.
Dragging my feet to the counter, I show Cross how to put in some orders explaining what I already did to open up. I also explained that most use the kiosk or mobile orders, so most of the time we don’t even put in the orders.
He caught on fast. Lucky because I did not feel like going through all of it more than once.
Customers started trickling in. Cross watched as I made a few drinks before he attempted any. He was slow at first, but I was too. I had to keep reminding myself of that, but by the third order I was already sick of this.
“You have to make sure to scroll all the way to the bottom to make sure you do all the add-ins.” I point out to him.
He nods, in deep concentration adding the whipped cream.
He slid it across the counter. “Dream.”
The yellow skeleton walked up to the counter. Looking up from his phone, he chuckled, “You’re new. Thank you!” He picked up his drink, waving with his phone as he walked out.
Cross watched as Dream left. How annoying. I started on the next order.
He finally joined me, “That was probably the nicest person to come in so far.”
I rolled my eyes, “ya most are just grumpy. He’s a regular though, I think my friend knows him.”
“You have friends?”
I scowled at Cross.
He puts his hands up, “I was joking dude.”
The regular french guy showed up. Before I could put the drink down to take his order, Cross headed over saying he’d handle it.
“Je vois que tu as obtenu le poste.”
"Yes I got the job. And please speak English.” Cross sighed.
“Fine.” he learned over the counter.
“Next you need to get a job, so you can stop using my money.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.” Ink groaned before pushing himself off the counter, “And I doubt papa would allow that.”
“Be helpful if you guys shared what’s going on.”
I worked on the next order as Cross finished.
Cross joined me, the French skeleton going to his usual seat at the window near the corner.
“Sorry, that’s my brother.” Cross said pointing his finger back at the counter.
“Oh I thought you guys were a thing or something.”
Cross choked, “Sorry what?”
I don’t know whether I’m annoyed at myself for guessing wrong or find it amusing. “Ya, I mean, when I first saw you guys come in separately. Plus you guys look nothing alike you don’t even sound French.”
Cross kept a disgusted face. “Eww no. Well Ink is technically my step brother. I’ve lived in America most my life though.”
I showed Cross where the chocolate was stored. He sighs, “I mean, I got this job partly to keep an eye on him.”
I didn’t really care. But I was stuck with this guy the rest of the day so who would it hurt. “He’s your brother, can’t you just… talk to him?”
“If I could force him to have a serious conversation for more than five seconds.” Cross muttered.
“Sounds exhausting.” I pulled out the strawberries to cut.
“You have no idea.” Cross glanced at Ink, “I just… don’t know why he’s here right now. He was going to come here when college started.”
I followed Cross’s gaze to Ink. A pencil in hand, he leaned over his napkin, tongue out in concentration. The beep of a machine nearby let us know that one of the machines was overheating. Great, just on my shift.
Ink’s table was collecting a pile of origami stars.