It's Worse This Year

“Close the blinds, do it now.”

“It’s after 10, who’s coming back?”

“It’s 10:04, and I promise you…”

The rap of the glass rapidly buckling in the doorframe startled them both. Molly turned to see a lankey, greying man in a snapback cupping his hand to the glass to peer in. As their eyes met he excitedly motioned towards the handle he had been tugging on with one hand while giving a thumbs up with the other.

“Closed. We’re closed!”

After one more pull on the locked door, disappointment turned the man back to the woman standing behind him on the path with his arms theatrically shrugged. Summer was clinging on in South Florida. It was October 3rd, and still 78 degrees three hours after sundown. The Avenue was busy, the sidewalks still bustling with an awkward swirl of stumbling 20-somethings and families of four out strolling after a long dinner. 

“The door’s locked. It’s literally locked.” Dan was four years in at the coffee shop, and battle scarred. He muttered to himself while hoisting a filled-to-the-brim bucket of customer-bussed mugs with a wince. The piles were heavier by the year, stinking of hours old syrups and caked on remnants of coffee, muddled with oat milk that was a week(ish) past its expiration date. Last year, the first after hours guest was a 20-something who stumbled his way through the door’s window. The year before was a joint venture. A mother and daughter in brightly colored fitted polos and short denim skirts, actively annoyed that closing time couldn’t be pushed five more minutes...and the young lady who followed behind them, shouting in agreement before vomiting against the door. 

This was Molly’s first Autumnal Collection release. She had only been with the shop since June, a part-time supposed “summer job” while home before starting graduate school that had been delayed a semester due to some familial economic mishaps. Her apron covered in cinnamon dust and espresso stains, feet blistered even in service clogs, she never imagined she would find herself here.

“It’s like this every year?”

“Yeah. Well...I don’t know, it’s getting worse. Or I’m getting worse, who’s really to say?” Arms still full of Mug Bucket and backing his way through the swinging door to the kitchen, Dan was funny for the first time all evening. 

Suddenly alone, Molly rolled her eyes a bit and returned to mopping. The owner of the shop had told her since she started in June that the day of the Autumnal Collection release was the busiest every year. Constant lines for hours, special requests, complaints, kids screaming, every person either over or under-caffeinated and deeply uncomfortable about that. And they’ve been waiting all year for the three extra shakes of cinnamon and an excuse to drink full fat milk. 

In some ways, the day had been disappointing. It had not induced the shellshock Molly had imagined. It was terrible, sure, some people are just programmed to be assholes to anyone in an apron. But it had felt manageable. After all, busy was good, working was good, and Molly had looked forward to it as an attempt to feel productive again.

*KshhhhhCK*

The noise behind her was startling and Molly turned to see Dan standing against the threshold of the kitchen door, the rim of a full beer can relaxed between his fingertips. 

The first year he worked at the shop, Dan had started around the same time as Molly: Early summer, fresh out of community college just making some money before heading to State in the fall. 2008 was not kind to Florida though, and between two parents in real estate and a denied financial aid application based on the prior year’s taxes and income that was no longer sustainable...his first October at the shop had been a surprise as well. A welcome one though. 

“Want one?”

“Well this is new…”

“I come equipped this day and this day only. Team building.” 

“I definitely feel the camaraderie...and yes, please, I would love one.” The two awkwardly smiled at one another from across the room for far too long, considering the context.

“You know...you’re literally right in front of a giant glass window in a closed business with no alcohol permit…”

Inexperience showing, Molly hustled behind the bar. A cold, tall, unopened beer lowly passed to her and the two slid to the concrete as she cracked it open, careful not to splash any on her freshly mopped floor. With synchronized heavy sighs the two gulped from their cans, the (extremely light) scent of hops pairing surprisingly well with the bleach that had been used to sanitize every inch behind the counter.

“I gotta say, the best thing about you being here is that I never feel nervous about touching anything or sitting anywhere. Your fondness of not watering down bleach to recommended levels is unmatched.”

“Two years in a dorm, two years in an apartment with a bunch of guys. I take pride in everything I do to keep us safe.”

“Well, I feel like I’ve earned sitting on this cold ass floor, so thank you.” A ceremonial, team building cheers ensued across the alley. Molly had only ever worked internships at front desks or in cubicles, so this one-on-one bonding after an onslaught was new. After hours had historically been at bars with peers at 5PM for discount drinks, not drinking from a six pack of Coors that had been carried in through the backdoor of her workplace to drink while bar emptied.

Another rap at the door. The lights had been dimmed for two hours, chairs turned up on tables, yet still a dogged persistence remained. It really was worse every year. Since his promotion a year in, people had only been worse. The people in line, and behind the counter. The staff seemed younger every year, and drained of any real personality for him to latch onto. They talked, but not to him, and it seemed anyone with wit or ambition was working for the larger chains providing college funds. It was fun the first year. A half decade and two promotions made it a Real Job, and Dan still wasn’t quite sure how to unpack that.

He did like Molly though.

“It’s fine. It’s a little bit exciting. Think of how many different people see you every day because of this. It’s actually...it’s a little bit nice.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m saying I didn’t mind it today. I don’t understand why you guys complain about it so much, it was a little fun. This, this is actually kind of fun.”

“It’s your first year, just wait,” Dan smirked as he peered into his second can. The light of a passing ambulance lit his face, and Molly glimpsed the corners of his mouth turn up and the condensation on his lips still left from his last swig of the can. 

“Well it’s my only year, so I guess I’ll need to take your word for it on what it’s like to have a career in this year after year, but today was…”

“Tell me about your ‘career’, Molly, you know all about mine” She could hear the smirk now, but it was pained. Changing course had been necessary as soon as she had begun noticing his lips. There was no way she could stay here, there was no way she could work another year of pumpkin-spice-cinnamon-syrup-whipped-cream anything, and if she enjoyed this moment...

“I’m not really a manager, Molly.”

“You’re actually literally the manager, Dan.”

Molly’s wry quip stung through the air, and she could feel Dan recoil across from her. The hum of the fridge at her back drowned out time, and though her response had been so knee-jerk, Molly suddenly felt herself losing words. 

“Yeah...I guess we all end up living the dream, huh?” 

Dan shook his empty beer can and silently held it towards Molly to signal that it was finished. Stiffly rising from the floor, he felt the weight of the evening on his slouched shoulders. It was the end of a long day. Hundreds of customers, hundreds of drinks, espressos, steamed milks, the essence of pumpkin flavoring lingering in the air under the bleach. It was the end of a long day that in the end was exactly as miserable as he had been expecting for a long time. And it was time to go home.

“No beers next weekend. One time only.” He was halfway into his car by the time he began speaking, and sped off towards the beach almost as soon as the car had started. The screech of the tires tore at Molly’s ears. They had been parked exactly across from one another. Meant to arrive at the same time. Meant to leave at the same time. 

The streetlights shone a dying light on the two lane street, and Molly had never been on the Ave this late to feel how quiet it could be.