4 - How it’s done

“Oi, what are you doing here?”

“I’m new,” the girl said. “You didn’t get the information, did you? You missed the interview last Friday night. And I guess the email the boss sent you…that’s ok, though. Thought you’d need a helper. It’s just a summer job.”

“I don’t need help. How old are you.”

“Fifteen.”

Four years younger. Probably going to college. Lucky, working beforehand. This kid might even not drop out under the doom of debt. Frankie knew a few buddies who did.

The girl’s voice startled Frankie. “Can you show me how to work this machine?”

“What, you don’t know?” Frankie sighed. She set her hand on the first sleek black Keurig in a line on the counter. “It’s not that hard.”

“No, it’s just that type I don’t know.” The girl peered closer. “Never seen it before.”

“Straight black, no creamer!” came the call of Avery the cashier. Frankie jumped—she didn’t notice he arrived—didn’t realize the first customer had come. She had missed it. She scowled at the girl internally; one of the best parts of the day, when the thrill and rush really began, gone.

The girl was already on the order, pulling one of the unmade coffee cups from the big basket next to the line of coffee makers. She turned her expectant eyes to Frankie, ready for instructions. Frankie snatched the cup from her, poked the hole in the top, and put it in the Keurig. She noticed the girl watching intently.

“Yes, this is how it’s done,” she said dryly.

The shout came again. “You take that one,” Frankie ordered, reaching into the overhead mug cupboard for the first order. She watched it fill, and, after putting on another order, she took the mugs to the front. Avery set them to the side where the customers came and picked them up.

Several mugs went in silence. How could she get lost in the silent drum of the kitchen, accented by the chatter of people beyond, that fired her inner philosophy? When would she have time to think about her favorite thing? Time to reflect on her life and dream plans for winning the promotion in the shop. The girl had better not hinder her performance. Frankie would get everything—a raise, a free pastry whenever she wanted, status, then she could achieve her dream of starting a chain and becoming a big business. She’d also get a right to boast to her bf’s friends. Granted, they all had high-end jobs that made them filthy rich, but with the status, she could at least pretend she was fit for their company. Nobody incited the thrill of climbing the hierarchy quite the way they did.