The radio is on too loud and the air vent is blasting, making me too cold, and the lights in here are too bright, and the woman standing behind me has been on the phone for too long. I'm so tired, and my head is aching where I hit it this morning, before I turned the lights on. My hair is a mess because I didn't have time to brush it since my toaster was not plugged in the whole time I stood there waiting for a stinking pop tart. My meeting is in ten minutes and it takes me fifteen to get to my firm from where I am now, but the man currently ordering is simultaneously changing his mind about what he wants and telling his kid to calm down, and there are three people, besides him and his child, between me and the cash register. A pop song about summer and sandy beaches- really, sandy beaches? What else would they be?- comes on the overhead speakers. Just as the woman behind me hangs up her phone and starts tapping her long fingernails annoyingly on her Blackberry keypad, a teenager standing two people behind her starts singing along with the song, terribly, her voice loud and clear because she's singing to a friend, tugging on her arm, confident to inflict her awful voice on all us innocent bystanders because she has a friend to hide behind. I have to pee and I accidentally took my roommates shoes- we have the same pair, but her feet are a size smaller than mine- so my toes are squished and burning with the promise of blisters. A guy struggling with a huge box squeezes between me and the man in front of me, and the box proves to be heavy enough to justify the expression on his face as he promptly trips slightly sideways, catching himself before falling on me but slamming the box, which must be holding something metal, right into my funny bone. He hurries off, not realizing the pain he's caused, and I scrunch up my face and hold my injured arm with my other. I finally step up to the counter, sighing and ordering straight black coffee, hoping it's scalding and strong. When I pull out my wallet, I realize my roommate took the last of my cash, yet again. I sigh again and pull out my card, and the infant behind the counter rolls her eyes dramatically and says, in a tone that's been soaked in a vat of duh, "You can only pay in cash, ma'am," I close my eyes for a moment and am about to start screaming my head off when I feel a hand on my arm and my eyes shoot open as a tall man hands a five to the cash register girl and says to me in a soft voice, his eyes on mine, "Let me take care of that for you." The cash register girl looks baffled but rings me up and starts to hand the man his change, but he looks at her with a smile and says, "Keep it," before turning back to me and saying, "Have a nice day." He smiles at me and walks off, and I walk slowly over to pick-up counter, baffled as the cash register girl. Then, when a kid with a red afro and an oily face hands me my drink with a huge, brace-filled smile, I smile widely back at him and say, "Thank you." I start to walk off, but then turn, abruptly, and add, "Have a nice day."
© 2011
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