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The next day, I woke up early with the sunrise to head off to work. Thankfully, Leo was still asleep so I did not have to interact with him. Tiptoeing past his room, I quickly grabbed my bag from where I had left it on our dining table and scurried out.
Best to get there on time today, I thought to myself nervously. Otherwise Asher is going to have my ass.
Asher was a tough, pimply-faced redhead who had somehow started off as a timid engineering freshman and girlbossed his way to a managerial position within the UDistrict Starbucks. After his third or fourth year, he had suddenly changed for the worse. Or at least, that's what Leo had told me. Me personally, I was doubtful that he had ever been shy or soft-spoken. The Asher that I knew was a mean, boisterous personality that barked orders at new trainees and refused to pay anyone for their first trial shift (borderline illegal). I had successfully avoided him for the most part, but lately I had started covering Leo's shifts which required me to spend more time together. I quietly hoped to myself that they would soon reopen the Suzzallo Starbucks so I could transfer there instead.
As I walked in, I was immediately greeted with a classic Asher-ism.
"David," Asher grunted. I looked up and nodded. "Don't just stand there, start your opening tasks. And quickly. There's customers already waiting outside," he nodded at the queue which had started to form.
Jesus Christ. You would think that the cure to covid had just been announced, from the look of it. But no, it was just a bunch of crack addicts waiting for their 6 am frappucinos.
"Did you hear me?" Asher demanded in a tone that I recognized as irritation.
"Yes, Asher," I replied monotonously. Even though we were about the same age (in fact, according to Leo's calculations, I was probably older), he still scared me whenever he used that voice.
"Respond when I talk to you next time."
"Okay, I will."
From then on, I carried about my day as usual. Asher occasionally got cross with me for getting orders wrong (forgetting to ask a customer for the size of their drink, writing the name "Susan" on a drink for someone named Soo Sinh, mixing up a mocha latte with a mochaccino because the customer didn't know the difference, and adding eight pumps of vanilla syrup to a drink that someone had requested to add eight pumps of vanilla syrup). I quickly ran about, rectifying all of my incorrect orders and adding about twenty more pumps of syrup to the ill-fated vanilla drink. Just for good measure, I added another five. The customer departed with her vanilla syrup-inundated drink, happy as a clam and moreover still under the illusion that she was keeping up with her diet. I restrained myself from informing her that she was consuming at least ten times the advisory nutritional limit for processed sugar.
I glanced furtively at the clock, willing it to move faster. When it was finally time for me to clock out, I smiled nervously at Asher and began to make my way towards the exit.
