Micro Fiction Monday: Mondays (BEDS 012)

“Gooooood morning, WTXY listeners! What a beautiful way to start a Monday, am I right? The sun is shining, it’s a beautiful seventeen degrees celsius, and we’ve got all the hottest tunes to start your week off right! We’re gonna—“

I slammed my fist down on the radio, and with a staticky fizzle, the announcer finally shut up. Last night, the idea of setting the radio as my alarm seemed ingenious—what better way to get me up and at ‘em as quickly as possible? Clearly, I didn’t account for the overly-enthusiastic host, which did more to chew at my nerves than motivate me to get out of bed.

I groaned and squinted at the sliver of light shining through my curtains. Mornings and Mondays are horrible enough by themselves—put them together and they’re basically a gift from Satan. I pushed myself up in bed, knowing that the longer I stayed there, the more likely it was that I’d fall asleep, and make the day worse than it already was. At this stage, there was only one thought on my mind.

Coffee.

I stumbled, half-blind and sluggish from the lingers of dreamland, out of my room and down the hall to the kitchen. I had to mentally track the process, for fear that any wander would result in broken ceramics on the floor.

Step one: grab mug. Check.

Step two: Fill with water. Check

Step three: pour into coffee maker. Check.

Step four: insert single-serve coffee grounds. Check.

Step five. I slammed my hand down on the “brew” button and leaned against the counter, waiting for the satisfying gurgle of God’s beverage being made.

What I heard instead was a moan, a hissing, and a pop as the machine sprayed water all over the counter, the mug…and myself.

Smile (Micro-Fiction Monday) (BEDS #22)

57. 58. 59.

                

Sixty. The blocky numbers on the wall flash from 8:14 to 8:15. I jump up from the less than comfortable chair in the staff room and burst through the swinging doors, the morning murmur enveloping me as a welcome.

                

“Hey,” I say to my coworker. She wears a brown apron, identical to mine, and her hair is tucked into a bun that is neat and annoyingly perfect. “Care for a break?”

                

She hands a customer their change and gives me a strange look. “My shift just started.”

                

“Never too early for a break, though, right?”

                

She turns around, folding her arms across her chest and leaning back against the counter. She stares at me for a minute, and I keep smiling, the forced casualty making my cheeks ache. She looks like she’s about to say something, but must decide against it, as she shrugs and walks away. “All yours.”

                

I immediately take my place at the till, even though the customer she was attending to is long gone and has yet to be replaced. I sneak a peek at my phone, hidden in the pocket of my apron. 8:16. Any second now.

                

A bell chimes, signalling the entrance of a new customer. I shove the phone back in my pocket and look up, my customer-is-always-right smile beaming.

                

It’s him. He approaches my till slowly, gazing at the menu like he hasn’t been here a million times. I already know what he wants, but I don’t start to type it in until he voices it. Oh god, his voice.

                
He takes his coffee, smiles, nods, and leaves. It’s the same every morning—right down to my smile. Not forced for customers or nonchalance, but one that is all too real. 

~~

Until later,

- Justyne