"Just bring me the damn latte, girl!" he commanded when all Hazel wanted to do was to enquire. He had abruptly cut her short in her listing after he had just plainly stated that he wanted a latte without any further details. Hazel was confused.
The words slammed down on the counter harder than his fist. Hazel blinked, startled. Smile frozen. Another charming customer.
The Bayers' Café was warm, buzzing, and full of life-typical for a hot summer Friday. The air was thick with the smell of roasted beans and almond milk, soft R&B playing from a speaker in the corner. Most people came here for a break. But not this one.
She had noticed him earlier, wandering the patio like someone debating whether to enter or walk away. She should have prayed for the latter.
Now here he was-black loafers clicking across the checkered floor, face carved into a scowl that looked permanent. His voice was dry and coarse, like it hadn't seen water in days.
"I said I want a small latte. Non-dairy milk. Almond. Two muffins. No flavorings. Unless it's cidamore-precisely."
He clarified sternly. Perhaps, he had understood her state.
Hazel stared, momentarily stunned. Cidamore? That wasn't even a thing, was it? Perhaps, he couldn't pronounce cinnamon quite clearly. She decided to ignore the phrase.
She opened her mouth to ask, "For here or-"
"That's all." He cut her off, eyes narrowing as if her very presence insulted him.
"Okay. For here or to go?" she asked again, trying to keep it neutral.
"Stop asking questions, girl!" he barked. "Just bring me the latte. Goddamn latte coffee! How hard can it be?"
Hazel fought the urge to slap her forehead. Instead, she gave the required customer-service nod and turned to prep the order. Her jaw tightened, though.
One more angry customer and I'm dissolving myself in steamed milk.
Mildred caught her eye from across the counter and raised her brows, the shared look between baristas that said: "weird" with a scoff. Hazel returned the look with a deadpan shrug.
Moments later, the drink was ready.
She delivered it to the table he'd chosen-far off in the corner, away from everyone, as if even human breathing offended him. Hazel tried to wonder how bad his day had been to sour his temper this much.
But instead of thanks, he slammed his hands down again.
"Don't be stupid, girl! I said to go. You asked me! Now I've got to wait another decade while you get it right!"
Some customers turned to look. Hazel exhaled sharply through her nose, pinching her lips together, she could feel her blood boil.
"With all due respect, sir, it's not my fault you didn't respond..." she paused, a quick fine tune to how sarcastic she was about to become, "...sensibly... to my question."
That word reasonably came laced with fire. She regretted it. A little.
His face turned red. "Who the hell hired someone like you? You can't even take an order!" Some green veins stood out prominently on his forehead. Hazel thought she could successfully trace them to their origin.
He stood infuriated, pushing back the chair loudly, and a customer cleared his throat deeply.
"Some of us are trying to have calm coffee please?" He pointed out.
The man's temper seemed to drop.
"I'm sorry if you're having a bad day, which I'm not liable for, but your latte's already made."
She said it with a smile so sweet it could curdle milk. He glowered at her but Hazel was amused. A smile formed the edge of her lip, and she fought hard to stop herself from chuckling.
"Fine! How much?"
He sounded defeated. By now two customers had gotten better interest in the situation and their expressions were disapproving of him
Hazel ran the total. "Exactly $5.02."
He threw her a bitter glare and turned to fetch his wallet.
She walked over to the counter, there was more to dispense and she was already regretting wasting her time with this supposed maniac.
Mildred, now standing beside her, leaned in with a mutter: "Maybe he has Alzheimer's."
Her green eyes glowed with mischief.
They both snickered-until he reappeared right behind them, unannounced.
"I hope I'm not the 'he' you're referring to." He asked seriously, straightening the slightly ruffled dollar note in his hand.
Hazel didn't flinch. "He refers to someone who forgets which questions he answered... and which he didn't."
She handed him the to-go paper cup, smile intact, eyebrows raised and dropped instantaneously.
"This café won't last long with girls like you," he grumbled.
"Have a lovely day, sir," Hazel replied brightly. Service etiquette was more important to her than any grumpy old man.
He stormed out. The door slammed. Silence followed.
Then Mildred grinned. "You need a raise."
Hazel rolled her eyes. "Or a punching bag."
The grin turned into a subtle smile.
At the far end of the counter, Selena was silent, as always, quietly grinding espresso beans like nothing had happened, that had always been her. Nonchalant, super uninterested, and minding her own business like she hated drama. After all, she was just an employee and her job mattered to her more than anything else in the world.
The girls returned to service.
The rest of the customers were pleasant enough. A few even smiled at Hazel, as if to say, You handled that well. She smiled back, but her heart wasn't in it. She had more important things to do and she bore in mind how impossible it was to please everyone despite how pleasant she was.
The usual ten-minute lull returned, that sweet pause between café chaos and the next wave.
Hazel watched a man lick the rim of his coffee cup before sipping it with his teeth, his face brightened with rapture as he sniffed the coffee steam.
She grimaced. Some people just weren't meant to drink coffee.
Something about her job always left her unsatisfied.
But something about today felt different.