All That and a Bag of Chips

Chapter 14

Another Thursday morning; another opening shift. Collin and Tom silently went through the routine, running down the mental checklist, their muscle memory doing most of the work.

At seven, Tom went to open the doors–Marvin was waiting, as usual–and Collin walked to the back to turn on the music.

However, when Collin pressed play, the chorus of Bad Habit by Offspring blasted from the speakers, loud and abrasive. As quick as he could, he pressed the eject button. The glowing skeleton on the CD's top confirmed that this was not corporate's new soundtrack for the month of May. After a moment of searching, he found the correct disc, which was carelessly tossed on top of a pile of inventory papers, and pushed it into the machine's slot. The Counting Crows' cover of Big Yellow Taxi played.

Marvin was still waiting for his orange juice to be squeezed when Collin walked back to the front of the store.

"Well, that certainly woke me up," the middle-aged man laughed, his silver fillings catching the overhead fluorescent lights.

"Sorry about that, Marvin." Collin raised his brows and shrugged. "Woke me up, too!"

Tom handed Marvin his styrofoam cup, and the man left with a smile and a wave.

When the door shut, Tom turned to Collin. "Who closed last night?"

"I think Eric and Christy."

"Figures." Tom grabbed a rag and wiped down a few drops of orange juice from under the orange juicer.

"I don't know. Isn't Offspring a little too mainstream for them?" Collin laughed.

After a moment, Tom turned to Collin. "Do you think they're fucking?"

Collin had a sudden mental image that he did not want. "Ew. I hope not. And if they are, they better not be doing it here after lock-up. I'll have to tell Janet to burn the office chair... What makes you think so?"

"I don't know, man. I was working alone with them Tuesday afternoon, and they just had a certain chemistry. Got a vibe."

Collin went to the sink and washed the empty blender from Marvin's juice. "But you don't get that vibe from me and Heather?"

It had been three weeks to the day since Avery had dumped him, and luckily he hadn't run into her, except for that one night when she was on the couch talking with Sam. Not that he thought about her. Or cared. He had been distracting himself with Heather. To the point where it no longer felt like a distraction. He even was getting better at texting–and was dreading what his parents would say when they got his next cell phone bill.

But he still hadn't won the bet.

Two Fridays ago, when tips were passed out, Collin had argued that Tom should fork over his paper bag full of cash. Tom had disagreed.

And now still, Tom was getting vibes from their coworkers, but still insisting that Collin's time with Heather didn't "count".

In response to Collin's question, Tom laughed. "I know tomorrow is tip day again, but dude, don't act all impoverished when I know you're not."

"I'm not acting anyway," Collin insisted as he placed the now-clean blender on the drying rack. "I just think we need to better define what it will take to win the bet. Because you know I like to win."

"The terms have not changed," Tom said with all the patience of Mr. Miyagi. "You need to nab a date with her. A real, legitimate date."

Collin wiped his hands on his apron and then started counting with his fingers. "We had that lunch on campus, alone. We've gone out dancing twice. Last Sunday we took the bus and went shopping at the Capitola mall. And we went out to dinner two nights ago." He held up his open left hand and then stuck out his right thumb. "Plus, we've talked about seeing Bend it Like Beckham when it comes out next week. Nothing screams 'date' more than dinner and a movie."

Tom shook his head. "You know that lunch didn't count. You went dancing in a group. Dinner was a group thing, too. The shopping trip was because all your clothes remind you of Avery and... didn't Sam come along? So, that wasn't a date for several reasons. The movie sounds promising, but it's a week away. That wouldn't get you my share of tips tomorrow."

Collin faced the empty lobby and rested his hands on the stainless steel counter. His eyes stared across the street towards the front of the cafe where he knew Heather was working right now. "Okay then, what will make the movies a 'date', really and legitimately, and not just a 'hang out'?"

"Well, all of your 'hang outs' have missed one crucial ingredient," Tom said, leaning forward on the register, ready for the next customer to arrive.

"Sex?" Collin asked. "Is that what it comes down to?"

Tom chuckled. "Dude, you don't have to be a gigolo! I'm talking about romance."

"Shit, man. I'll go grab my boombox and blast In Your Eyes outside the cafe right now if you want romance."

The front door opened, interrupting their banter. "Hello, what can I get you?" Tom asked the soccer mom, straightening his back and plastering on a smile.

A minute later, after the register had closed, two tickets popped out of the machine and Collin dipped each of the receipt papers in water so they would stick to the side of a dry blender. As he went through the motions of dispensing apple juice and scooping fro-yo, fruit, and ice, he thought about what would qualify as romantic in Tom's eyes: Flowers? Chocolate? A love poem?

But, he guessed, giving Heather gifts wouldn't be the hard part. The test would be how she received them.

And even if he was teasing Tom about not understanding why he hadn't won the bet yet, he understood. Too well, probably. Because, as much as Heather was starting to like him, it was as a friend. Sure, she treated him like a guy, but there was an asterisk next to that gender marker, one that was as unjust as the asterisk that had been next to Roger Maris's single-season home run record.

Maris's asterisk was officially removed in '91. Would Heather ever see fit to remove Collin's?

By the time Collin had served the two ordered smoothies, more customers came in. It was the first mini-rush of the day. Then, when there was a lull, they were back to cleaning up spilled smoothie drippings and restocking ingredients. The conversation moved on to the mundane topics of getting more change in the register, filling the ice bin, and grabbing clean rags from the drier.

When Dylan's shift started an hour later, Collin went back to divvy up tips for distribution the next day. He sat in the manager's office, swiveling back and forth on the chair that he hoped to God hadn't been the location of his coworkers' fornication, and started by pouring all the loose change into the coin sorter, which he then rolled. Next, he used the bill counter to confirm the number of one-dollar bills. Finally, he added everything up, and was happy to see that they had pulled in well over a grand.

Clicking through the excel spreadsheet he had opened on the Dell desktop computer, he divided up the total tips collected by the total hours worked, and then determined what everyone's share would be.

He would get just over $75, which would be some nice cushioning for his pocket, especially with Porter's Queer Fashion show happening, and the epic after-party that his housemates were planning for Saturday night.

If only he was also taking Tom's share of the tips. He could buy a whole keg with that sort of dough.

Although, as he counted out bills and placed them into labeled paper bags, Collin knew that he didn't want to win the bet for the influx of cash. The money didn't actually matter. What he wanted was Heather.