On June 5, at 4:45pm, I will be hit by a bus.
On June 5, at 4:41pm, I get hit on at a coffee shop.
"Monika? That's a cute name."
I lift my head from staring at the coffee counter. "Huh?"
A bespectacled barista—whose nametag reads 'Ben'—smiles and flicks his eyes from mine to the coffee in his hand. "I said, Monika's a cute name." He slides the cup across the counter towards me, spinning it so I can read that, yes, indeed, my name has been spelt as 'Monika' with a little red heart over the 'i'.
I stare at it stupidly, having just been ripped from an existential quandary in my mind. What is better... What is better...
I look at Ben. "Are you guys hiring?"
His smile falls. "What?"
"This seems like a cool gig. Serving coffee and listening to music." I gesture to the acoustic guitarist whining into a microphone in the corner of the shop. "Is it fulfilling? Do you have a life outside of here? Do you have health insurance?"
"Uh." Ben laughs awkwardly and shrugs. "I don't know, man."
I grip the counter. I know that I am staring into his eyes with all the intensity of a drowning woman searching desperately for a floating door to cling onto, but I don't care. My voice wavers as I ask, "Do you like your job?"
Steam from my coffee rises up between us. The crooner in the corner finishes a dirge for his latest relationship, and muted chatter fills the void as Ben and I hold each other's gazes across the coffee-splattered countertop.
Finally, his voice soft and sympathetic, Ben responds: "Does anyone like their job?"
My heartbeat stutters. Feeling faint, I drop my change into the tip jar and stagger towards the door.
What is better? The thought returns as I press my numb hands against the glass door of the coffee shop and step outside into the cool summer fog. My feet carry me off the curb and into the crosswalk. To live at the office or for the office? To trade your time or your soul for security? Your life or your passion for life?
"Hey, wait! You forgot your coffee!" Ben's voice yanks my focus back to reality. He's shouting from behind me. "Monika!"
A switch flips in my brain. I stop in the middle of the street, not able to see the neon flashing WAIT symbol in the fog, not able to see the bus barreling towards me, not even able to hear the sound of its massive engine because the sudden fury that fills me is so all-encompassing that I am momentarily robbed of my senses.
I spin around.
Ben stands on the sidewalk with my coffee in hand.
"My name," I snap, "is Mali—"
The clock strikes 4:45pm. I don't even see it coming. The world just goes dark.
YOU ARE READING
Bleak Expectations: A Tale of Two Interviews
Short Story"On June 5, at 4:45pm, I will be hit by a bus. On June 5, at 9:05am, I get hit by a door." Malika is a recent college graduate in desperate need of a job (and health insurance). The corporate world, however, is not what she expected. Two satiricall...
