Page 19 of Cream & Sugar
“For now,” Shaun says as he walks to the front door. “I’ll show you how to make each order as we go until you know all the coffees. When it’s busy, I’ll make the drinks and you can run them to the tables. There are only seven, so it’s easy to remember who ordered what. Takeaway is easy, they just collect from the counter. Make sense?”
“Crystal clear,” I say, “I know you’ll keep me right.”
“It’ll be fine,” Shaun says like he’s reassuring himself more than me. “Just keep your shirt on and we’ll be okay.”
I crunch up the remnants of my mint and smile. “I promise.”
For now.
No one comes in for five minutes. Shaun gives me a tour of the cupboards in the meantime, showing me where everything is kept—the syrups, stirrers, napkins et cetera. There’s way more than I was expecting so I try to pay attention and not get turned on by his giant, beach-ball butt as he bends over to open up the lower cabinets. I’m largely unsuccessful. It’s a good thing I’m wearing an apron.
The front door jingles and a tall, suited woman wearing a pair of burgundy earmuffs walks in.
“Do you want to try serving her?” Shaun asks.
“Sure,” I say, stepping up to the till. The woman approaches the counter, studying the menu etched in chalk on the wall behind me.I put on my most charming smile and greet her, “Good morning! Welcome to Cream & Sugar. How are you today?”
The woman glares at me like she wants to take a golf club to my balls.
“Can’t you see I’m stilllooking,” she hisses.
“Oh,” I say, a little taken aback. “Sorry, I was just—”
Then she shushes me. She actually holds up her finger and shushes me. It works too; I’m so stunned by her rudeness that I fall silent.
I look to Shaun for help. His eyebrows are raised but he’s hanging back by the coffee machine, not meeting my eye. Guess he’s leaving me to deal with Grumpy over here by myself. Maybe he’s chucking me in the deep end to see if I’ll sink or swim? Testing me? Maybe Grumpy’s a paid actor he brings in for all his new staff? That’s the only way I can fathom someone would act like such a knobhead to a complete stranger.
I turn back around and come face to face with her.
“I’d like an oat milk latte with one shot of skinny hazelnut syrup,” says Grumpy.
“An oat milk latte…” I search the till for the right button. There’s so many, each labelled something different. Some are just a string of random letters and others are words I’ve never even heard of. There’s one that says “lungo” which sounds like some kind of horrible disease and another reads “piccolo” who I only know as the big green guy from Dragon Ball Z. My app-rotted brain struggles to read anything that’s not on a phone screen. Shit, this is what I get for being a pervert and not paying attention.
Grumpy lets out a long sigh, holding out her debit card impatiently. Behind me, I hear lots of grinding and clattering as Shaun gets to work making her coffee.
“Aha!” Finally, I spot the latte button. I press it and the till rings it up, but I remember Shaun saying something about supplementalcharges. By a stroke of luck my roaming index finger finds the oat milk button. I stab it down and it adds thirty pence to her total. Boom! Now to add the syrup… it was… shit, I’ve forgotten. I don’t want to ask Grumpy to repeat it, mostly because I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of behaving like the imbecile she clearly thinks I am.
A hiss of steam from behind me.
Come on Freddie,concentrate. The till buttons are grouped by colour. I’ve identified the drinks and the different milks, but where in the ever-loving fuck are the syrups? That’s a question I never thought I’d be asking myself, least of all at seven in the bloody morning.
My eyes land on a cluster of yellow buttons in the bottom right corner. One of them is marked ‘Hznt SF’. Hazelnut, sugar free! Bingo! Gay audacity prevails again.
Grumpy clicks her tongue but I ignore her. I’m on a roll, so as far as I’m concerned, she can go and die in the sea.
A tap of the syrup button brings her total to…
“Four pounds fifty,” I announce, proudly.
Grumpy narrows her eyes. “Got there in the end, did we?”
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
“We did.” I shoot her an acerbic smile. “Sorry, it’s my first day and honestly, it’s like air traffic control back here.”
She rolls her eyes. I’m beginning to think Grumpy and I aren’t going to be friends after this.
I take her payment, winging it with the card machine and resisting the urge to add a few extra zeros to her total.
