"The sad truth is the truth that is sad."
~ Lemony Snicket
***
The radio is playing loud again as I drive to work after school. This time it's playing a Twenty-One Pilots song:
"When the leader of the bad guys sang,
Something soft and soaked in pain,
I heard the echo from his secret hideaway..."
But this afternoon I'm not singing. It normally happens after a bad day so don't get any ideas.
The light turns red and I slow to a stop as the song blares out,
"You're the judge, oh no,
Set me free,
You're the judge, oh no,
Set me free,
I know my soul's freezing, hell's hot for good reason,
So please, take me."
The light turns green and I rev forward hoping I can get to work on time, much unlike most other days. The trees on my right fly by in a green blur, the cars on my left seemingly standing still as I drive down the four lane highway. I pray to God that I won't be late again as I've already been twice since I got the job at The Hub coffee house downtown. My job there consists of greeting people with fake smiles and making them double tall caramel frappuccinos with no caramel and extra whipped cream mixed inside, not plopped on the top, with a flat lid and purple straws instead of the signature blue ones.
I almost groan just thinking about it. I turn off the highway to one of the shopping courts off the main road where The Hub is located near a Wal-Mart and the only Goodwill store in town. The Hub is a small building, similar to Starbucks, that has a drive thru and a rather large parking lot. It has an outdoor space in front which is occupied by a few tables with blue umbrellas attached to them and speakers by the windows playing the quirky music that is controlled from Mitchell's Pandora account from his tablet inside. I pull into my parking spot and yank out my keys and bag, slamming and locking my car before rushing inside.
"Hey Cole." Says one of my co-workers, Mitchell. He graduated a year before me and we've been acquaintances since the beginning of my freshman year at South High.
"Hi Mitch." I say and I get to work beside him, tying my hair up in a ponytail and then washing my hands.
"We've got a small white chocolate mocha with steamed milk and a touch of vanilla for the old lady in the red gingham, chop chop Cole." Mitch says quickly and I nod, already steaming the milk and trying to locate our vanilla.
"White chocolate mocha for Kathy?" Mitch calls when I'm done. I bring her her order to the counter where I can see her sit up and walk over, surprisingly fast for her age.
"Small white chocolate mocha with steamed milk and a touch of vanilla." I say, trying to be as friendly as possible, which is extremely hard for someone as socially awkward as I. The old lady picks up the cup with a grateful smile and tips me, thanking me before she steps out the door.
"Colby," Mitch says next to me and I spin around. "Two large lattes one with a quarter of non-fat milk and a quarter 1% with two sprinkles of cinnamon a dash of whip and one teaspoon of coconut oil. The other one needs split quad shots - one and a half shots decaf two and a half regular - one packet of Sugar in the Raw, a dash of vanilla syrup, and heavy whip for the college sororities in the matching bitch sweaters."
