I Lost My Breath in Turkey

Chapter One

THIS IS A STORY THAT IM GOING TO FINISH. I'VE MADE DEADLINES AND HAVE SERIOUS INSPIRATION. HOWEVER I'M NOT PERFECT AT GRAMMAR YOU MAY FIND SOME MISTAKES AND I APOLOGIZE. PLEASE ENJOY AND LEAVE A COMMENT IF YOU LIKE>>> EVEN IF IT'S CRITICISM. I DON'T MIND.

PS. THE PICTURE OFF TO THE RIGHT SIDE IS THE NARRATOR/MAIN CHARACTER: ELLA BROOKLYN JAMES.

Chapter One

The art of making coffee isn’t necessarily difficult, at least it shouldn’t be. However when you have to make it nearly every ten minutes it can get rather confusing.  I’m clearly aware that that sounds ridiculous because you would think after many six hour shifts I would become pro at it. But it’s possible that I’m having issues because I’d rather be drinking the coffee than making it for ignorant people all day long. I’d say that’s my main issue. I mean it’s not difficult to put the coffee grinds in the filter and start it. It’s listening to the rhythm and the aroma that gets into my mind and suddenly I’m confused.

So I’m just standing here waiting for the coffee to finish so I can go back out into the lobby area and serve it one last time before I get off. It’s weird how this restaurant has just a coffee girl. Instead of the waitresses bringing it out with their orders, this restaurant hired a coffee girl to do that for them. The managers say that the coffee girl position is the best because you are the main person the old people want to see. You make the company who they are and bring in more customers with generous hospitality. I don’t agree in the least bit. Sometimes I find myself in hundreds of “back in my day” conversations for like an hour and then I get bitched out for not making the coffee every ten minutes. Excuse me, hypocritical management. You tell me that you want me to be on my best behavior and do whatever I need to make the customers feel at home but the moment the coffee has been sitting on the burner  for too long…let’s shoot me in the face.

“Brooklyn!” My best friend and co-worker, Tene, says as she bolts through the kitchen doors. “I can’t do it anymore. I feel like a piece of meat thrown into a cage of starving pigs.”

“Is Mr. Carmich hitting on you again?” I said as I tie the half apron around my hips.

“No.” She leans against the wall. “And to be honest…I’d be okay if it was him. There is a table of a ridiculous group of guys…probably from our school making comments each time I walk by. It’s starting to get on my nerves. And you know I can’t say something because butt face boss got on my case about it last week. He says if I treat another customer with my attitude…I’ll be fired. Well excuse me for speaking my mind and having self-respect.”

“If I was more than just a silly old coffee girl…I could help you out a bit. But you know that this is all I’m good at. I’m too clumsy to be a waitress and I can’t cook food till save my life. If I tried…I’d probably burn this place down.” I looked over at her and smiled. “I could however tell them to get lost or coffee may accidently get spilled down their pants…if you like?”

She laughs, almost forgetting how big of jerks they are. “I wish. I can handle them…I just want to punch them all in the face.” She dusts off her uniform and winks at me before heading back out into the lobby.

I look down at the coffee pot which has finally finished and I grab a couple mugs before taking the fresh coffee out to the patient customers. When I walk through the doors I try to find the table that Tene was freaking out about but I got caught off guard by the Smiths. Mrs. Smith is waving her hand for me to come over. I smile and head on over.

“Good evening Mr. and Mrs. Smith, some more coffee tonight?” I respond nearly robotic.

“Awe, thanks darling I’d love some coffee.” Mrs. Smith says smiling. She’s a regular. She comes in often with her husband. She a small frail lady and her husband is not…he has a beer gut, probably one that he’s had since the Vietnam War. They are a lovely couple nonetheless.