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I toss my bag on the counter, walk around to the back of it, and pull my apron out. I put it around my waist as Alana walks out of the back room.
“Hey Callie! You okay? You don’t look too well.” she asks, concerned.
As my eyes meet hers, I feel a wave of nausea come over me.
“No, I’m not feeling great. I must be coming down with the flu or something,” I say while holding my head.
“Are you sure you want to work today? You can go home at lunchtime if you want?” she asks.
“Sure, thank you, Alana. That would be great, if I could.” I say with a smile.
The clock chimes 8 a.m. The shift has started. I prepare myself at the register for the first customer of the day. A young woman, maybe in her twenties, approaches me. She’s wearing leggings, trainers, and a hoodie covered by a flower apron. She must be the florist from down the street.
“Good morning, ma’am. May I take your order?” I ask sweetly.
She looks at me, smiles, and looks behind me at the menu.
“I’ve seen you before. You walk past my shop a few times a week. I didn’t know you worked here.” She smiles.
“Yeah. I’ve only just started. This is my third day. I like walking past your shop because you have the sunflowers out. They’re my favourite.” I chuckle.
She chuckles slightly, “Yeah, sunflowers are my favourite too. But, for my order, I will just get a large hot chocolate, please, love.”
I type in hot chocolate on the register.
“No problem. Will there be anything else?” I ask, getting ready to go and make her drink.
“No, dear, that’s everything. How much?” she asks while fishing through her apron pocket.
I press the button on the register.
“£1.75, please,” I say.
She brings her card out of her pocket and presses it on the reader.
“I will just get that for you. Give me one moment.” I smile as I walk over to the machine.
I pick up the large paper cup beside the machine and put it under the nozzle. A wave of nausea hits me out of nowhere. Please don’t throw up here. That would be so embarrassing. I take a deep breath and gather my bearings. I press hot chocolate on the machine, and it spits it into the cup.
While waiting for that to finish, I pull my phone out.
8:30 a.m.
This day is going to drag. The machine beeps, and I pick up the cup and return it to the florist.
“Here you are! Have a lovely day!” I say as I hand her the cup.
She takes it and smiles at me, “You too! See you around!”
She turns and leaves, signalling for the next customer to step forward.
The morning rush shift went by quicker than I thought it would. Alana comes and stands next to me.
“It’s 1 p.m., Callie. It’s lunchtime. Do you want to go home? You look worse now than you did this morning,” she says, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I smile at her, “Will that be okay? If I go home? I don’t feel well at all. I think I just need my bed.”
She shuffles on her feet and smiles at me, “Sure, Callie, I’ll mark it down in the book; you’re taking the rest of the shift as a sick day. Hope you feel better soon.”
