Kara, a 21yo Bicurious White Woman and Barista

Honk! Honk!

I slam on my horn at the old woman driving ten miles under the speed limit who just pulled out in front of me that I almost hit. Out of reflex, I swerve out from behind her, pulling into a tight spot between a Corvette and a pickup, before pulling back into my lane, in front of the old lady. With her out of the way, I speed to my job.

I pull on and tie my apron as I shuffle from the parking lot to the front of the coffee shop I work at. The string behind me finally let me them into the knot as I reach the front door. The bell over the door jingles as I throw it open, flipping the sign on it to ‘open’ and heading to the counter to get the machines going for some of the colder drinks.

Outside of the cars on the streets outside and all the noise that making coffee causes, the empty store is silent. I watch cars, trucks, and motorcycles stream past the window, as the coffee machines hum quietly in the background. As peaceful as it is, I can’t keep my mind off of the chaos that’s about to come rushing through the front door in half an hour.

When the machines cut off, I go to put them in the fridge and get the cold brew out, when I hear the bell jingle again, earlier than most days when there isn’t some weird business conference in town. I glance to the door, expecting some business man or woman in a tux or pantsuit and starting to greet them, when the familiar figure in the sitting room silently cuts me off.