Friday 31 May 2013

Misadventure of the Barista

I don't know why they sent me. Send someone who cares. Send someone who's indifferent. Hell, send someone who just plain doesn't care. But they didn't do any of that; they sent me. Not just someone who didn't care, someone who found the very idea of going abhorrent. In fact, not just the idea of going, the abstract concept of there being such a thing to go to.

Maybe I should go back a bit...

It all started a couple of weeks beforehand. I wandered into work and Max gave me a look that I would like to describe as "lugubrious", however that's mainly because I like the sound of the word, not because the look was anything close to being it. In fact, it was more disapproving than anything, bordering on envious. I ignored it (mainly because I couldn't use words like 'lugubrious' to describe it) and put my stuff in the secret closet (turning off to Max's poor joke that I was constantly in the secret closet...) then I stepped into the kitchen. "Kitchen" was perhaps too strong of a word for what I stepped into. It was, in reality, a part of the cafe behind a counter with a differently coloured floor. The cafe was empty, as usual, so whether or not a division was needed was yet to be seen.
"I see you've managed to get out of working Friday," Max seethed.
I gave him a curious look which I assumed he didn't want (or at least unwrapped) because he looked away pretty quickly.
"I'm sorry?" I said.
Max looked back at me. "Maddy's given you Friday off."
I frowned, more out of confusion than frustration. Any day off is a blessing. Any day off that I don't have to go to the dullest place in the world for 10 hours is a blessing in much the same way that any day where I have to go to work is a curse beyond compare.
"It's the first I've heard about it," I said, trying to hide my glee.
"Yeah, she's taken you off the rota and now I have to work."
I could see Max getting typically tense and decided not to antagonise the situation.
I shrugged. "More money, at least."
He scowled at me.
"Another perk of being Ellen's favourite," he muttered.
"I'm sorry?"
His eyes sharpened further. "Ellen's requested your company at some Coffee Festival..."
Now, I love coffee as much as anyone, more than most people in fact, but I never considered putting the words "Coffee" and "Festival" together. I like toast, but I'm not going to throw a parade for it.
"What, in all that Odin holds dear, is a Coffee Festival?" I asked in a tone that I thought was incredulous, but having never looked "incredulous" up in the dictionary I wouldn't know whether or not it really was.
Max leaned against the counter, enjoying my angst. "Your reason for being in Ellen's company for an entire day."
"Am I getting paid?"
Max shook his head. "She said she'd pay your train fair."
I sighed. "Motherfucker..."

Later that day, driven to near-insanity by Max's habitual moaning and the lack of even one customer, I decided to do the banking and take a walk to the other cafe, run by the same company, in our town. By virtue of there actually being customers at the other cafe the company decided to post our manager, Maddy, there.
"Hey, Sam!" she sang as I entered.
"Hello, Maddy."
"You hear about the Coffee Festival?" she asked, gleefully pouring milk on top of espresso.
"Yeah," I sighed, ignoring the annoyed glance of a customer waiting at the till. "I hear Ellen chose me especially."
Maddy said nothing.
"Maddy?"
"Kiiiind of," she sang.
"Kind of?"
"Well..." she paused, then caught my look. "Well, Ellen actually asked me, but I can't go because that's the start of my annual leave. So I suggested you. So, you were hand-picked by the person who was hand-picked by Ellen."
She looked away, then she looked back.
"So this is the kind of thing we pass around until we find someone who can't pass it on to anyone else?" I asked.
Maddy didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then she sighed, "Yes."
"So I could pass it onto..."
"Nobody," she replied. "I'm the manager, my word's final. Besides, good luck finding anyone stupid enough to falling for an entire day with Ellen."
I tried to ignore the fact that I'd been stupid enough to fall for an entire day with Ellen, even if it was only due to my superior forcing it upon me. I was about to retort when I was interrupted by the customer at the till.
"Can I get some service please?!?"
I gave him a hard look that I don't usually employ, but, seeing its effect on the man (silencing him and turning him into a cowering ball of humanoid flesh) I decided to use it more.

Eventually, Friday came. Ellen sent me an email the day before telling me to be in London (she was actually that vague, "London"; like it's about 5m square) at 10:30am. I had to catch the 8:50 train. I was about to leave for it when I got a text from Max.
Fire at 3 bridges. Runnin l8. Can u open 4 me plz.
I tried not to let the text speech and blatant disregard for anything resembling correct grammar bother me, but, after just finishing my proof-reading of 'In the Footsteps of the Behemoth', I couldn't resist responding with the edited version of what he sent me along with explaining, in no uncertain terms, that I actually had somewhere to be and, more to the point, that it wasn't my problem that there was a fire on the trains.
As I left the house, Max replied explaining that the affected station was actually on my route so it did, indeed, affect me greatly after all.
I changed my direction and ended up at work, just in time to open. In no mood to do anything resembling work, I made myself a coffee and sat at one of the tables leisurely scrolling through the past few hours of Twitter and wondering why I ever signed up for it. Decidedly not in uniform, I was ignored as a customer walked over to the counter and waited to be served. I smiled.
He was stood there a few minutes before he turned to me and said, "Do you know where the staff have gone?"
I shrugged.
The man grunted, "People don't do their jobs properly these days. If I did my job like this I'd be fired."
"Really?" I asked. "And what line of work are you in?"
"Banking."
I was about to make a comment about how it must have been difficult to enter into a job which has 'counting' as it's primary skill (especially considering that the man didn't have enough wit for me to imagine him finishing Primary School). Unfortunately, he turned my original question back at me.
I was going to say 'writing' but having been sent the 'Endless Tides' sales figures the day before by my publisher, I thought this was too much of a lie. "Catering."
He raised a curious eyebrow but, luckily, I was saved by any further interrogation by Max wandering in. He scowled at me when he saw the game I'd been playing with the customer. I just got up and left.

I arrived at the train station a few minutes later. It was raining and I was soaked. Still, I bought my ticket from a surly attendant (you know, the kind that makes you think euthanasia should be legal just so we can put moody bastards like that out of their misery) and boarded the train. I was going to read (I can't remember what book I was reading back then) but I was annoyed from the morning's trials and knew that more were surely to come so I decided just to prepare myself for them. Or, at least, that was my first instinct. Ignoring my usually sound common sense I decided to take this time to text my good friend Lily.
Now, around this time, and to this day I have no idea why, Lily wasn't in the best of moods with me. Whether or not I'd done something or whether Lily was just having one of her sporadic I-Need-To-Be-Annoyed-With-Someone-And-You're-The-Closest-Person-To-Me-At-This-Current-Time phases and simply picked me as her folly, I'm not sure. However, whether or not her scorn was deserved or merely one of her whims, I decided to try and stop the bridge from burning completely.
Lilly, how are you brother? You haven't worked yourself to death have you? I'm already having a hilariously shit day! Books are going okay, started the third one now and the second should be published soon. On my way to London for a Coffee Festival (who knew?).
I waited, noting the middle-aged man who had yet to take his eyes off of me since I boarded. This happens to me quite regularly and I'm still unsure if these are disapproving looks at the length of my hair and general disheveled appearance or if I'm actually quite attractive and people are lusting after me. Personally, I think it's the second of these, but it wouldn't be the first time I'd been wrong.
My phone beeped.
I am still alive, still beautiful. Good luck with books. Enjoy London.
Now, Lily and I have a strange kind of friendship. We have a habit of living in each other's pockets and not minding, talking near endlessly without it being annoying and laughing until we can hardly breath. Needless to say, simple sentences don't tend to play a huge part in our conversations.
I decided to reply.
Beautiful, eh? I haven't seen you in so long I'm sure I couldn't comment! I'm sure London will enjoy me more than I'll enjoy it. Are you working today?
The man was still looking at me. For a while I felt flattered, but now I was starting to feel slightly violated. I nestled into the wool of my aviator jacket in some hope to find comfort, but none came. The man groped his own thigh.
My phone beeped.
12-6
I sighed, trying to work out what had happened between my best friend and I.
Shall we go for a drink when I get back?
"Say 'no' or I'll die of shock," I muttered to myself.
Let's just say I'm still alive.

For some reason (trains aren't my specialty. I once went to Heathrow Airport, to meet Lily nonetheless, and on the Underground I failed to understand why none of the trains said Green Park on them. After half an hour of no trains going to where I needed to get to, I eventually asked the conductor when the next train to Green Park would arrive. He turned to me, mocking smile intact, and said "All of these trains are going to Green Park." Still, I'm getting sidetracked by other misadventures, of which there are many.) I had to change at East Croydon. I stepped off of the train and onto the platform. Just as my original train was departing a voice came over the speaker system.
We regret to inform all passengers that all trains to London have been suspended due a fatality on the line.
"Please say it was me," I moaned. Unfortunately, looking around (in fact by virtue of being able to look around), I deducted that only my will to live had died on the line and the rest of me had gotten away relatively unscathed.
I sat on one of the benches ignoring the pregnant woman who'd been racing me towards it. The smell of coffee drifted over to me and I started to salivate slightly. That's what I needed; caffeine, drug of the Gods. I opened my wallet. I'm sure you've all seen it in cartoons when a character opens their wallet and a moth flies out? Well, and this is no exaggeration, I'm sure that a ghost drifted out, the spine of the wallet creaked in agony, there were cobwebs where there should have been money and my debit card croaked "Kill me." It was then I remembered that I had a grand total of £8.76 in my bank account and I had yet to pay my rent. Still, this didn't change the fact that I needed coffee and the Coffee Festival was still ten miles away.
I sauntered, as I so often do when I realise I'm going to need to be charming, over to the coffee stall and leaned on the bar.
"Whatcha wan'?" The rather attractive woman running the stall asked. I'm not fluent in the language of London and it's many boroughs, but I think what she said roughly translates as "Hello, dear sir. Have you come to purchase a coffee? As you can see by the board behind me we have many different varieties. Cappuccino, Latte, Mocha. They come in sizes large and small at a reasonable price. If coffee isn't the beverage you seek, might I interest you in a Hot Chocolate? Perhaps even tea? You seem a sophisticated gent, I have a selection of fruit and herbal teas or mayhap you would prefer chai? So, what can I interest you with?"
I smiled.
"I have a slight problem," I said. "I'm desperately tired and I need caffeine to fuel me on what has turned out to be a never-ending trip. Now, I hope you won't think me parsimonious, however I have a slight currency issue (that being I have no money to speak of or even to be in silence of) and I was wondering if perhaps I could offer you something else in return for a cappuccino?"
She frowned. "So you ain' gonna pay?" (For those of you who have misplaced your London-English Dictionary, I believe this translates as, "Dear sir, you mean to tell me that you have not the funds to purchase one of my fine coffees using the traditional method?")
"I can pay," I said. "Just not with money."
Her frown intensified. "You ain' sayin' you wan' me to 'ave sex wiff ya so you don' 'aff ta pay, is ya?" (Dear sir, are you proposing that we frolic betwixt the sheets in some passionate lust in return for a hot caffeinated beverage, as opposed to you passing over some pounds and pence?"
"Not at all!" I said. "I merely wished to suggest that perhaps I could mop? If you're bored and there is no mopping to do, maybe I could serenade you? I have a copy of my first Fantasy novel, Endless Tides on me. Maybe that would be sufficient payment?"
She gave me a hard look. "I wouldn' wipe me arse on ya book. Na, fuck off!"
I fear, apart from a few missing consonants and the wrong vowel in certain places, that this last utterance is the same in all areas of England.

In the interest of making sure that this already long story doesn't get a ridiculous amount longer, I'll just say this. Eventually my train arrived, I got on, I met a variety of strange people who I was sarcastic to without them realising, my train arrived at my station, I got off the train and found the Coffee Festival, with the help of a Scottish man (who was nothing like the way media portrays them).
By this time, I was already three hours late for the Coffee Festival and I couldn't imagine Ellen being particularly pleased about it. Then again, I caught my reflection in one of the windows and realised I looked like a particularly annoyed Jim Morrison who'd just got out of bed and that I didn't particularly give two shits whether or not Ellen was happy or not. I phoned her from outside.
"Hello?" she answered.
"Ellen, it's Sam."
"Sam! How are you? How's the Coffee Festival? Isn't it magical?"
It was only now that I realised that Ellen wasn't actually at the Coffee Festival.
"Oh, magical doesn't describe it, Ellen. It's as if God planted a coffee bean and watched it grow into a blossoming Flat White. One thing though, I've had a bit of trouble finding everyone else?"
"Oh, did Maddy not tell you? You're the representative of the whole company! Anyway, you have fun and have the report on my desk by the Monday, okay?"
She hung up.
I sighed and headed back to the train station.
I'd tell you what I said in my report, but I don't even think the internet would let me print it.

Sunday 26 May 2013

Inspiration

So May's been a little slow for writing. Between work and the fact that people seem to be intent on me having a social life (who knew they actually liked me?) it's been a little difficult to sit down and put pen to paper. Besides, there's a far more pressing matter that's getting in the way of my creativity; I just don't feel inspired.

It's difficult to say why I don't feel inspired, though I'm fairly sure that going to the most boring place on earth every day for 8-10 hours doesn't help. Then again, what do I know? Not a lot, if this blank page sitting before me is anything to go by.

See, I know what I want to write. I know what's going to happen. I know what the characters are thinking and how that affects their actions. I know what's going to happen 20 chapters on. I know what's going to happen three books on. I know what to write, I even have entire passages mapped out in my head. I just can't get it on the page. Well, that's not strictly true. I can get it on the page in about five minute spurts. The problem is, my soul wants to write, but my mind doesn't.

So I'm doing the usual things to inspire myself. Great books, great music, great films might have to go in for some video games soon. I went back and read 'Catcher in the Rye'. I've been listening to my favourite bands. I've been watching my favourite films. I've been listening to new music and watching new films. At the moment I'm reading 'Destiny of the Sword' by J. Jones. It's fantastic and it's actually helping. It's making me yearn for a full page again, which is half the battle.

Put the coffee on Jameson! The page is blank and I need fuel!