I suffered severe writer's block during this assignment.
"Are you getting a medium or a large today?" I asked. I should have guessed. "Large today," he replied. I poured his coffee nervously. I knew exactly how he liked it. Extra cream and five Sweet & Low's. I watched the translucent brown swirl into a milky caramel as millions of previously imagined scenarios raced through my mind. This was the day. At least one of us were going to leave with a phone number on this sunny, April afternoon.
"My guy" was a tall, muscular, college student. He reluctantly came in within the last hour of each of my shifts. His name is Kevin, but we prefer to refer to our current short-lived infatuations strictly as one's "guys." Just the sight of his truck would stop me dead in my tracks. In an instant, I would completely forget what I had been doing. I was the only one he wanted to make his coffee. In fact, if I were preoccupied, he would let people in front of him so my co-workers could take care of them and I could be the one to serve him after I finished.
As easy as it may appear, I had the worst trouble trying to break through my shyness barrier and strike up a worthy conversation. I remained fairly quiet that day. I swiped his Bank of America card and waited patiently as I mentally tripped over every worth that passed his lips. I returned his card along with the reciept. "Here's your card," I began, "...and here's my number." I felt my cheeks burn with anxiety while hazily staring at the pink post-it extended before me. "You should call me if you're not busy with work or school," I continued. I braced myself for rejection. "Oh, okay. Yes, I will definitely give you a call sometime. But don't get offended if I don't call. I don't usually call people," he explained, folding the post-it in half and tucking it into a slot in his wallet. We wrapped up and he left. That had been enough excitement for one day. Mission accomplished, right? Wrong.
I skipped to the back and rested against the wall to recollect myself. No later than a minute passed and I heard commotion by the window. "Ms. Joan and your guy are inspecting the front of your truck, Erin," said one of the regulars. "And now they are coming back in," said another.
"Does anyone in here own a dark green Dodge Dakota?" asked Kevin. I hesistantly raised my hand like a fourth grader unsure of his answer. "I am really, really sorry. I was backing up and I cut the turn too short," he explained. "Here's his information, Erin," Ms. Joan interrupted, sliding the sloppily written numerals and digits across the counter, written on the back of one of her church group's shared recipes.
"My guy" and I walked out together to assess the damage. My left headlight had been cracked. "I will pay for this. Call me and let me know how much it is to repair," he insisted. "No, no... It's fine. Don't worry about it," I told him. It was a lot to register at once. I was still not mentally present post-delivery of my number.
To this day, neither of us have spoken via telephone. He still comes in every now and then, but the incident is not brought up. Irony set in that I got a hold of his number in the end. I would have prefered for him to have skipped the automotive destruction, but at least it makes for an interesting story.
Very, very, very tired, guys.. This doesn't meet expectations, I know. Again, I suffered severe writer's block during this assignment.
"My guy" was a tall, muscular, college student. He reluctantly came in within the last hour of each of my shifts. His name is Kevin, but we prefer to refer to our current short-lived infatuations strictly as one's "guys." Just the sight of his truck would stop me dead in my tracks. In an instant, I would completely forget what I had been doing. I was the only one he wanted to make his coffee. In fact, if I were preoccupied, he would let people in front of him so my co-workers could take care of them and I could be the one to serve him after I finished.
As easy as it may appear, I had the worst trouble trying to break through my shyness barrier and strike up a worthy conversation. I remained fairly quiet that day. I swiped his Bank of America card and waited patiently as I mentally tripped over every worth that passed his lips. I returned his card along with the reciept. "Here's your card," I began, "...and here's my number." I felt my cheeks burn with anxiety while hazily staring at the pink post-it extended before me. "You should call me if you're not busy with work or school," I continued. I braced myself for rejection. "Oh, okay. Yes, I will definitely give you a call sometime. But don't get offended if I don't call. I don't usually call people," he explained, folding the post-it in half and tucking it into a slot in his wallet. We wrapped up and he left. That had been enough excitement for one day. Mission accomplished, right? Wrong.
I skipped to the back and rested against the wall to recollect myself. No later than a minute passed and I heard commotion by the window. "Ms. Joan and your guy are inspecting the front of your truck, Erin," said one of the regulars. "And now they are coming back in," said another.
"Does anyone in here own a dark green Dodge Dakota?" asked Kevin. I hesistantly raised my hand like a fourth grader unsure of his answer. "I am really, really sorry. I was backing up and I cut the turn too short," he explained. "Here's his information, Erin," Ms. Joan interrupted, sliding the sloppily written numerals and digits across the counter, written on the back of one of her church group's shared recipes.
"My guy" and I walked out together to assess the damage. My left headlight had been cracked. "I will pay for this. Call me and let me know how much it is to repair," he insisted. "No, no... It's fine. Don't worry about it," I told him. It was a lot to register at once. I was still not mentally present post-delivery of my number.
To this day, neither of us have spoken via telephone. He still comes in every now and then, but the incident is not brought up. Irony set in that I got a hold of his number in the end. I would have prefered for him to have skipped the automotive destruction, but at least it makes for an interesting story.
Very, very, very tired, guys.. This doesn't meet expectations, I know. Again, I suffered severe writer's block during this assignment.
posted by Erin at
9:08 PM
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