Things We Said Today

Chapter Three

The train slammed to a stop, sending me colliding with the row of people standing to my right. I muttered out an apology as a reflex, but no one could hear me— everyone was in their own world, sound tracked by whatever it was they were listening to on their headphones.

I had paused the Zeppelin song that had been sound tracking my own destructive internal monologue so I could panic without distraction. This was the third time the train had stopped within the tunnel. I still had eight stops to go, and it was nearing 9am. My chances of promotion... better yet— continued employment— would be slim if the goddamn public transit system kept delaying my timely arrival.

I checked the clock on my phone for the 40th time in the last fifteen minutes: 8:45am. Even if the train continued on without pause, which was literally impossible, I would still get to the office ten minutes late. And that didn't even factor in the stop I needed to make at Blue Bottle to pick up Martin's morning cappuccino.

"Fucking hell, I hate this goddamn transit system." I muttered under my breath to the car full of distracted professionals.

We sputtered along, stopping another two times before we finally made it to Van Ness station. I considered getting out and sprinting down Market Street rather than continuing on the hellish train ride, but brushed off the idea when I reminded myself I was wearing my fancy work loafers.

It never failed to amaze and infuriate me that such an unfriendly city for vehicles would have such an abhorrent transit system. It was impossible to get around San Francisco. Perhaps that was purposeful, to help fuel gentrification or segregation or something equally repulsive.

We finally exited the tunnel after what had felt like days and had literally been an hour. I shuffled around the few remaining people in the car, so I was standing in front of the door. Seconds were precious now. I sprinted out of the doors while they were still opening at the Second Street stop.

I ran down Second Street, right past Chronicle, to the Blue Bottle next to South Park. Luckily for me, ironically, I arrived after the morning rush. There was no line, just a tightly packed circle of exhausted baristas behind the counter.

"Morning Lucy." Kevin, the green-haired college student who worked the register most days of the week, greeted me while dragging himself away from whatever gossip the group of them had been whispering about.

"Hey Kevin." I flashed him a smile while I rummaged through my bag in search of my company card.

"Just the cappuccino this morning?" He asked, idly pressing buttons on the iPad that served as a register.

"Yeah, thanks." I found the card jammed between two notebooks and stuck it in the little card reader.

Kevin finished my transaction then turned and began chatting with the barista making Martin's cappuccino.

"That's just late-stage capitalism, you know. We're never going to be able to progress in this consumer-based society." He chimed out while leaning against the counter.

"Kevin, you work at a coffee shop that's owned by a company that has over 93 billion dollars. You're not contributing anything to economic or political change." The other barista's voice rose so she could be heard over the shrieking of the steam wand.

I chuckled under my breath at her rebuttal.

"Whatever." He muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned to begin organizing bags of coffee beans.

"Here's your cappuccino." She said as she slid it across the counter.

"Thank you so much." I spat out while grabbing it and racing out the door. I was twenty-five minutes late... and if I didn't run, it was going to be thirty by the time I got there.