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Placing both hands on the sink, I stared at myself in the mirror for a beat. He wasn’t wrong about me. I was poor, with barely a high school degree under my belt. I was insignificant. Ordinary. And I did smell like sweat from my daily commute under the sun, but I believed in hard work and rising above what others expected of you.
My parents had taught me that.
Wrenching my shirt off, I hung it on the towel rack and sprayed some refreshing product on it, then began to clean myself to take away the odor until all that was left was the scent of soap.
Thanks to Mr. Di Rossi, I was allowed a bit of time to make myself presentable, knowing how long my daily commute was. Back at the lockers, I threw on the black T-shirt of our uniform, sporting a graffiti of a white subway car on the front—the logo of the coffee shop—then pinned a pretty silver tag on it with the wordsJr. Manager.
Yep, I had been the assistant manager for a couple of months now. A position that came with all the responsibilities but none of the perks, especially not the pay raise.
“The Subway” was an upscale, urban coffee shop in the middle of the best neighborhood in California. It had becomethe hottesthang out, offering happy hour and craft beer tastings after 5:00pm each weekend, but most of all, before it perfectly catered to all crowds.
We spanned the entire first floor of the building, and the space had cool brick walls, graffiti, and even part of an authentic subway car coming out of a wall, making it seem as if you were actually inside an underground station in NYC.
Tying my apron, I made my way to the front, seeing the line of customers extend to the corner and beyond—like it did every morning. As I finished prepping the register, Nick set the last sugar container on a table, while Josh manned the coffee station. The second Nick unlocked the door, the first wave of customers made it inside.
It was the “suit wave”, as we called the business rush from the bankers, hotel managers, and CEO’s in the area.
Pasting a smile on my face, I glanced at the first “suit” standing before me. “Welcome to the Subway. What is your destination today?”
“I’ll take a 5thAvenue decaf, please.”
* * *
“Hey, check out the mini skirt at two o’clock.” Josh nudged me when I returned from the sandwich station, placing a hard-pressed Manhattan panini on the counter.
Oh, yes. It was 3:00 p.m., and the “hottie wave” had begun. The space was buzzing with college students and trust fund babies stopping by for a late lunch, to meet their friends, study, or simply hang out in our café.
I followed Josh’s gaze and snorted. “You are such an idiot.”
Laughing, he waved to his girlfriend, who had just arrived with a group of friends. “What? You are too cool to check out my girl? She’s hot, man. Stop hating.”
“Idiot,” I reiterated, chuckling while he leaned over the counter to kiss her lips.
“Hey, handsome,” Rebecca, his girl,greeted.
“Hey. How’s college?” I asked, turning to the register to take a payment from a customer.
“Ugh, don’t ask. I hate math with a passion, but I’m hanging in there because I can’t wait to get into Law School.”
Shaking my head, I patted Josh’s back. “She’s going to be a lawyer, dude. You are screwed.”
“And don’t I know it. She can already argue to death.”
Rebecca grinned, taking it as a compliment, and motioned her friends to follow her.
“Oh, I think I'm in love.” Nick’s voice sounded pained as he placed the empty plates he carried on the counter, looking at one of Rebecca’s friends while they sauntered to a nearby booth.
“Don’t even think about it,” I told him after a single glance at the girl. She looked like spoiled money.
“But why?” he asked, almost whining, his hopes clearly crushed while he walked around to our side.
“Don’t ask, dude. Just walk away,” Josh confirmed, swinging an arm around his shoulder. “Brax here has a crazy sick instinct when it comes to people. It’s scary. He can read someone with one look. So, if he says to stay away, you stay the hell away. Trust me, I learned that the hard way.” He shivered, probably remembering the “Miranda incident”.
Rolling my eyes, I turned to take the next order, but Josh didn’t let it go. After handing the “Wall Street”, a triple-shot espresso to the customer, he pulled me to his side.
“Watch this,” he warned Nick, then nodded to a group of high school seniors that took a table in the far corner of the room. “And… go!”
Sighing, I turned to the girls in question, knowing he wouldn’t get off my case until I did it. My gaze settled on a blonde who had made sure her designer tags were visible to everyone around her.
