Jarrad,
Barista at Mr Rogers Bookstore Cafe, 12:00pm.
I've seen this kid before. I think it may have been last week. Yes, that's right. He was speaking with Mr. Rogers at the front of the store, right before my shift. I'll bet that kid was undergoing some serious reprimanding from the old man about stealing and crime. I wouldn't be surprised. Mr. Rogers likes to give those people a 'talking to'. I told him it'd be quicker to just call the police. I remember this boy in particular because of the colour of his eyes. They were different from each other, a unique feature from the others. I remember thinking how it didn't matter, because his appearance reeked of juvenile delinquency anyway. They all do. Those people.
He's not the first of his kind to steal. I've seen them around here before. Sometimes they come in to buy coffee, and sometimes they come in to purloin the books. Mr. Rogers once told me 'Books should be read by all, enjoyed by all and paid by none', but he doesn't realise the principle of it. Those books, this cafe store, they're all providing him a cushy cashflow, and my salary.
Sherryl, one of our regulars, agrees with me. I remember now making her cappuccino that day and she'd mentioned seeing those people knicking our stuff from the shelves. I pointed this out to Mr. Rogers but he shrugged me off. Typical boomer.
That's when I had decided, if I wanted justice and righteousness done correctly at my workplace I'd have to disclose those people myself. Sherryl and our table waitress Emma, and I made a pact to be extra vigilant when those people entered through our door. Any wrongdoings will be written up.
I watched as the kid fumble his way to the cash register. I didn't even need to see him, to know he was up to no good. I barely had a chance to clean my hands when he dashed out the door.
I snorted and followed pursuit. Sometimes with these people, you just know.
—-----------———————
Sergeant LM,
Police Officer, 12:00pm.
You sigh out loud, for this was the last assignment of the day. You know it's good community work but after the morning you had, you really didn't feel like participating in 'Coffee with a Cop'.
You were still feeling overwhelmed and defeated from delivering bad news early this morning to a teenage boys' parents. Their beloved son, who freed himself from his earthly burdens. You could still hear the screams and cries of his mother. He was only a boy of fourteen. Shaking your head, you take a deep breath.
Your partner asks if you are okay to start the community work at 'Mr. Rogers' Bookstore Cafe'. A niche little cafe filled with retired locals. You nod slowly, and get out of the car. Your partner shoves his thumbs under his vest and asks what coffee you'd want- for it was his shout this time. And that's when you notice a boy swiftly open the door of the cafe and walk away. Seconds later a taller, older lad wearing a coffee stained apron opened the door, his face distorted with rage. He looked towards the direction of the kid then back at you and your partner. Gawking in disbelief.
'WELL?' he shouted 'GET HIM! WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST STANDING THERE?' he points at the boy who clearly pretended to not hear the commotion, for he stood trembling by the crossing light.
Your partner grunts irritably and then turns to yell for the boy to return. The boy obeys without hesitation and you watch him walk timidly back towards the cafe, pulling back down his jumper's hood from his head. You realise with a pang he looked similar to the boy from yesterday.
—---------———————————-
Mr Rogers Bookstore Cafe, 12:00pm
There was a boy, no older than fourteen years of age, hovering nervously by 'Mr. Rogers' Bookstore Cafe. This was not his neighbourhood, and he felt the community inaudibly agree around him. He began to swing his arms back and forth nervously.
What if I'm not a quick learner, he thought to himself before shaking his head. Mr. Rogers was counting on him. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Mr. Rogers was nowhere in sight.
This complicated things. It was the first day of his new job and he arrived possibly a tad too early. He thought it would appear decent to sit and wait inside the cafe for Mr. Rogers rather than skulk the pavements at the front of his shop. People might think he was up to no good.
He counted his dollars and waited patiently behind the counter for the long-haired waitress to return from clearing a table nearby. The boy pretended not to notice the fixed hostile stare of the barista man pushing buttons on the espresso machine nor of the old lady with bright orange hair and the inside-out cardigan who gawked and grunted from her table at the back.
The longer he felt the occupants of the cafe survey him, the more anxious he became. The long-haired waitress had disappeared and the old lady with the orange hair let out a displeasing cough, startling the boy.
Maybe I'm just hungry, he thought to himself. He opened up one of the cookie jars and pulled out a large biscuit containing multiple coloured chocolates. He then hastily placed his counted coins quietly by the jar, the long-haired waitress should be able to see it. The old lady with the bright orange hair coughed violently again. Leaving all coins behind, the boy fled. He will try to apologise to Mr. Rogers tomorrow and thank him for at least giving him a chance.
Pulling his hoodie over his head, he walked as far as the crossing lights shivering nervously, when he heard the yelling and commotion. A policeman with a vest was calling out for him to return to the cafe. Pushing back his hoodie, to expose his hung head, the boy walked back.
'That's him, the little cookie thief!' shouted the barista pointing his coffee powdered fingers at the boy, and at the half eaten cookie in his hands. The boy flinched at the accusation. He held out the cookie alarmed and shook his head. Tears were forming in his eyes for he could understand the English language but he could not speak it properly and definitely not under pressure. He could not tell his story.
The long-haired waitress opened the door and hurried to the boy.
'There you are! You forgot your change!' she said. The boy shook his head in distress as the waitress tried to pass him coins. He didn't want to be accused for stealing money either. The waitress smiled knowingly and then repeated what she said in another language. The boy stopped mumbling and smiled. He wiped his tears at once.
The barista Jarrad rounded on the waitress Emma, 'You're one of them? But you don't look like them!' he scowled. She ignored him.
The policeman in the vest grunted impatiently, the waitress Emma offered to find him a table inside, trailing behind him with a menu placemat.
Sergeant LM, however, straightened her back and informed Jarrad that, the show was over.
She then told Jarrad that she wanted to order two large double-shot lattes and one hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.
She winked and told the boy in the same language that, it was her treat. The gobsmacked barista nodded and led them both inside the cafe without another word.
Sergeant LM spent the remainder of her shift chatting freely with the boy, who was grinning from ear to ear, telling his story.
