Christopher Lockwood squinted his eyes as the pink-haired barista waved her arms wildly in an attempt to get his attention. He let out a sigh, closed his laptop, and approached the counter.
"I believe this is your coffee," the pink-haired girl giggled, smiling a bit too wide. Christopher wondered whether it was the training that created annoying individuals or if coffee houses simply attracted individuals that were already annoying.
"This is not my coffee," he scoffed, "And you don't need to wave me over again. I can hear you."
"You were wearing headphones, I thought—"
"I have the noise cancellation turned off," he scoffed again.
"I apologize, I didn't know," she fought to keep the smile on her face, but it was proving difficult. "I was calling your name…you are Chris, right?"
"No, I am not Chris. I am Christopher."
"Well, this is your drink." She slid the white cup across the counter.
Christopher Lockwood picked up the cup, pulled it in close for examination.
"Can you read this for me?" he rotated the cup so the pink-haired barista could read the scribbles.
"It says, Chris." Her smile faded just for a moment before springing back to life. "But I'm sure it was an honest mistake. I can get you a new cup if you like. I can write Christopher on it." She beamed.
"He's going to be very upset if I take it."
"A small non-fat latte with caramel drizzle?"
"Yes, that is what I ordered," Christopher answered, "Just call my name when it's ready."
"This is a tall non-fat latte with a caramel drizzle." She was no longer smiling.
"But I'm not—"
"Take the drink!" she yelled, causing the hipster reading group in the back corner of the cafe to turn and observe the commotion. A panic washed over her as she saw their fedora-wearing, handlebar mustached, skinny as a stick leader pull the e-cigarette from his lips. Her stomach dropped as no vapers came from his mouth. Time stood still as the pink-haired barista stared into the all-critical man-child's eyes. With a nod of his head, the reading group stood in unison, stuffing their copies of "Nobody Belongs Here More than You" into their satchels.
Panicked, the pink-haired barista quickly ran to her phone and switched Julia Holter's "I shall love 2" on the speakers. But by the time the one-minute intro was over, the reading group was gone.
"What have you done?" A voice boomed from behind her. She turned to see her tattooed manager standing in the doorway. His apron was tied tight to his muscular frame.
"I'm sorry," she said, tears in swelling in her eyes. "I'm so…sorry."
"Sorry's not going to bring them back." His words were biting. She'd never seen him like this. He was feverishly scratching his beard with one hand and frothing milk with the other. "Samantha's not coming in until two, and I don't have anyone to cover the shift, but as soon as Samantha's here, you'll need to turn in your apron."
The manager took his hand from his beard and unplugged the aux cord from the phone. "We won't be needing this anymore." Now he was just being cruel.
But he was right. Without the hipster crowd, the place was filled with boring, noise-canceling headphone'd businessmen, typing away on their computers selfishly making money so they could live comfortably. It was everything a coffee shop despises.
The cafe had spent the entire year making the place look as run-down as possible. They'd replaced the chairs with stained sofas and rubbed the wooden tables with sliced granny smith apples to make them extra sticky. They'd even hired a lady to come in at night and place crumbs on the ground after closing. It'd taken longer than expected, but the no-pronoun individuals finally came. And now, one threatening shout later, they were gone.
But wait. A slimmer of hope lifted in the pink-haired barista's chest as she saw him. His jeans had more holes than material, his V-neck stretched down to his belly-button, his hair was shaved in a reverse mohawk (hair on the sides, bald line down the middle), and he was heading straight to the counter. If anyone could write a review to bring the book club back, it was him.
The pink-haired barista let out the biggest smile she'd ever smiled. She was mentally prepared to let out a convincing laugh at anything the man said. She grabbed the phone from her manager, plugged in the aux and unpaused Julia Holster's "I shall love 2." Since the minute-long intro had already played, the song started right at the depressing verse.
"How can I help you today?" she stretched her smile wider than humanly possible.
"I'm here to pick up the order for Chris," he said, "I was in the restroom."
Update:
-After Chris's scathing review, the coffee shop never hosted a book club again.
-The Pink-haired barista got fired, forcing her to go back to college. She re-dyed her hair brown and now owns a pair of noise-canceling headphones.
- The manager is still managing but also performs stand-up comedy once a week at an open mic. He is dating Samantha.
-Christopher Lockwood could never figure out how to order the drink he copied from Chris. Christopher now takes his coffee black.