Been Here All Along

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"The lights will guide you home." - Coldplay

I pulled my red Jeep Wrangler into the same staff parking space I park in everyday and pulled my keys from the ignition. I was running late, but Mr. Westchester was nice enough to be unbothered by it.

   "Morning, Josie," a friend and coworker of mine, Jocelyn Chapman, greeted. She must be on greeting duty for the next two hours until our shifts rotate. "Running late?"

   "I need a new alarm." My stupid phone alarm has been working in the jankiest ways possible this past week — going off early or late or not at all.

Jocelyn chuckled. "The schedule is posted in the lounge."

Like most of my coworkers my age, Jocelyn goes to school with me at University of Miami. We met here at our job at Westchester, a local park located right on Miami Beach, four years ago. She had just started here after moving to Miami from Panama City. When we initially met, we found it amusing that her nickname is Jocey, and it's so similar to my name. It's been four years, and I still look when someone says Jocey.

I hurried to the lounge to view today's schedule and apologize to Mr. Westchester for my tardiness.

"Josie, glad to see you made it," Mr. Westchester's daughter, Caroline, teased.

Though the Westchester's are probably the nicest people on this planet, I'm also pretty lucky to have known them well since my brother first got a job here when he was 14.

"Sorry, Caroline," I apologized. "Where am I today?" I slid my key-card to clock in for the day.

"Café. My dad's covering for you right now."

Unfortunately, my work alarm chose Saturday morning to be the time to not go off. Saturday mornings are the busiest part of the day café-wise because that's when the elderly come. They try and beat the rush of kids that are bound to come crashing through any minute.

   I ran across the park to the café and grabbed my apron the second I got inside.

   "Sorry, I'm so late," I apologized to Mr. Westchester who was sitting behind the cash register. Luckily, there was only three tables being occupied currently — nothing Cara couldn't handle.

   "No big deal. Just get to work." Mr. Westchester picked up his cane from next to him and got up. "I'll be in the lounge with my daughter."

   Cara, another friend of mine I've met since college began, passed by with two trays of eggs and bacon for a table.

The door chimed open minutes later to give me something to tend to after just sitting at the cash register pointlessly. The price of boredom is the price I must pay for being late, it appears.

"You got this one, Jos?"

"Yeah." After the couple in their mid-thirties took their seat at an open table, I went over to take their drink orders.

Working the café is probably my favorite job that Westchester offers, in comparison to playground duty, ice cream parlor, costumer service, lifeguarding, or greeting. It's laidback, and I get to socialize without being overly stressed.

"Two orange juices," the man ordered after I'd asked what kind of drink they'd like to start themselves off with this morning.

I filled two cups up with orange juice and returned it to the couple who was still deciding what they'd like to order. I didn't recognize them so I had a feeling they didn't come here often or were newer members.