I can't believe my alarm didn't go off. I get up quickly and rush to find my black pants and the white shirt on my computer chair. The apron is at Sophie's. I'm tired, more so because I didn't have the proper sleep. I grab my purse and tiptoe around the house to avoid waking up TJ early this morning. 

Sundays are TJ only day off. He was long from work when I crept into the house after midnight. His hood was hanging over the kitchen chair. I could hear his breathing while sleeping, even though I couldn't consider snoring, which I am glad. As I leave my apartment, a text message pops into my cell. It's my mother again. She told me she might come for Labor Day weekend with Father. Is she waking up this morning to tell me this? 

The brisk wind blows hard on my face, and I regret not wearing my hoodie as I'm out of my apartment, but I need more time to return upstairs and get one. I am already late on my first fundamental shift at Sophie's. The sun hides behind the clouds, and I'm frustrated by the sudden climate change from yesterday. I check the forecast on my phone, and it looks like it will rain, but not too much. I don't have an umbrella anyway. I am a former Seattle resident, so light rain doesn't bother me. It might bother TJ, who came from Georgia previously. Although he is not a freshman, he said he will never get used to the winter. The bleak wind from the lake has quickly replaced the fresh breeze from the evening. I run a few blocks to the capitol square where Sophie's Place is. I run as fast as possible to avoid delays and the cold wind hitting my skin. The clock is ticking. I finally arrive at Sophie's. I'm short of breath when I see the customer waiting at the door and watching her watch. She doesn't sound happy, but I smile anyway—more out of embarrassment than anything else. I screwed up big time. "Sorry," I say, but she doesn't acknowledge me. 

I search for Sophie's key, which Silvia had given me yesterday. The key is inside my purse, among a bunch of papers and receipts.  Where's the supervisor? Well, she's not here because the place is completely dark inside. I'm ten minutes late. My fingers finally find the key inside my purse, and I quickly placed it inside the locker." I thought this place opened at six. It is ten past six," the woman says with an annoying expression. I do my best to keep my calm posture while attempting to unlock the door, but the key gets stuck inside." Oh no," I say. I move the key inside the locker again, this time slower. I almost fall forward to the floor when the door flies open. I sigh in relief. The woman follows me with a concerned look. "What's up with the floor? Have you ever scrubbed it?" she asks. Next, I sense my shoes sticking to the dirty tile. I look around. No one has mopped the floor since last night. I am about to apologize and clean up, but the second customer comes in. Where do I get the cash to register? What happened to Scarlet? My mind is flooded with questions. The floor is sticky with soda spills, and the three garbage cans are loaded with trash. "I don't know," I tell her, "I didn't close last night." "I didn't ask if you closed last night. I asked what happened here," she rudely said. "I'll make some coffee now," I tell them with a smile. "You know what? I'd rather go to Starbucks." "I agree. This place is disgusting," the second customer says. And just like that, they are gone, leaving me without words. I find myself behind the counter, hopeless. Where do I start? I have much to accomplish in this small place, but I still need training. Should I call Sylvia? I looked for Scarlet's number on the schedule on the wall, but I needed help finding it. I dialed Sylvia's number since she gave me hers yesterday, and she answered on the first ring. "Oh, Scarlet switched the shift with Meggie after you left. Meggie was supposed to be there with you. Where is she?" Meggie was supposed to be here with me. The last memory of Meggie being entirely drunk and crying over Mike still haunts me, but I don't tell Sylvia. "I don't know," I lie. "Maybe Meggie is...sick?" "She never said anything. Are you all alone?""Yes.""Lock the door and do whatever you need to do. If they knock on the door, tell them you're dealing with plumbing issues."Sylvia is a genius."The shop is dirty. A complete mess.""Oh. Sorry about that. I'll deal with Jeff later. Let me call Scarlet and see if she can come in. I'll call you back," she hangs up.After I lock the door from the inside out, I start cleaning the counter and stocking the brown and white sugar, Splenda packets, napkins, straws, and toothpicks. I am about to get the mop when the phone rings again."Cassidy, I'm sorry Scarlet is not answering the phone. That's not usual. Unfortunately, I can't come in. I'm up North with a new boyfriend."After Sylvia hangs up, it takes me some time to find out where things are. I pour water into the bucket and mop the floor. I throw the garbage bags in the dumpster outside and replace the cans with new bags. I dump the coffee from last night and wash the pots—every single one of them. Then I make more coffee—dark roast, mild, and Decaf.There is a giant pizza box. The leftover pizza falls to the floor when I carry the box to thegarbage. The base is now dirty with pizza and marinara sauce, and I know I must clean up everything again.I hear someone unlocking the door, and I'm relieved I'll get the help and support Ineed to start my day.It is not Scarlet. Instead, a guy wearing a Nike hat comes in. I look at him closely as he approaches, immediately recognizing his features. Tall, charming, and arrogant."Hi, Cassie." I'm impressed he is intact despite the many drinks he'd taken last night."Are you okay?" I ask."Why wouldn't I?" His tone of arrogance is so apparent. He acts like he'd never been to Sparrow or drank multiple glasses of pure Scotch last night. How is he awake this morning without any signs of hangover? I'd certainly be dead now after drinking pure Scotch. No wonder Meggie didn't show up here today."I don't know. Just curious.""I'll be here until Scarlet shows up.""I made some fresh coffee if you want some," I tell Mike, sounding professional and respectful.He doesn't acknowledge me and instead heads to Sylvia's office. In less than a minute, he brings a bag of cash from the safe. He opened the cash register in front of me and counted the money. "Two hundred should be enough, Cassie.""Cassidy," I remind him. "That's my name.""Right. But wouldn't Cassie be short for Cassidy?""No," I tell him. "Do you know where Meggie is?"Mike places his hands in the pocket of his jeans, emptying them. "Well...she is not in my bag, so go figure. His mood is all over the place. Whatever happened between them last might have been a terrible thing for both."I'll be in the corner. Don't bother me unless it is urgent."A woman enters the coffee shop and orders a latte. Mike opens his laptop in the corner. I quickly check the latte recipe, brew an espresso, and steam the milk into the cup."Is it good?" I ask after she takes a sip."Awful," she answers, taking off with her latte without asking for her money back or anothercoffee.More customers come to the shop, and my heart pounds every time. I'm relieved when they onlyorder regular coffee. Mike still has his eyes on the laptop screen. This guy is an asshole. I wouldn't give him the time of the day.The following customer is a young lady in her thirties, "I want a macchiato," she says with a smile.I smile back and collect the payment. I check the recipe and prepare the drink just as about tenmore people come inside simultaneously. I desperately need someone to help me stock napkins, cups, and even straws, but Mike doesn't even move in his seat."Mocha, please," asks another woman wearing a nice shirt while I was cleaning one of the tables. She is right behind me. I sweep the sweat over my forehead with my arm as I rush to prepare her Mocha. I accidentally trip on my shoes just as I'm about to handle the coffee. Mocha coffee slips out of my hands, spilling the hot drink all over her white shirt, and her bra is exposed underneath it. She is covered in mocha chocolate."What have you done to my brand-new shirt, bitch? I just bought the other day," she shoutsthrough her lungs, "And you burned me, too!" She shows me a small red mark over her skin. Almost invisible. Her shirt is ruined. Mike finally moved on to his chair."I am sorry," I tell her as I toss her a rag so she can clean herself up."I need to know your manager's name." I look up at Mike, standing next to me."How can I help, ma'am?" he asks her."Don't you see? This bitch fucked up my shirt.""I apologize this happened to you. I can see you're soaked with coffee and chocolate. "I can get you another mocha free of charge," Mike tells her coldly."That's not enough," she yells at him while cleaning herself up. "I want a refund for a new shirt. And for the damages.""How much did your shirt cost?""Three hundred bucks."Mike looks up and down her shirt, analyzing the cost. "Three hundred bucks for this pieceof shit? We are not covering more than twenty dollars for this. Twenty bucks should cover your expenses, time, and gas, too. It's a casual shirt, and I know the manufacturer.""Asshole," she says through gritted teeth. "I don't need another coffee, but I'll take thetwenty." "Oh, I'm writing a bad review about this place."Mike takes a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet, "This should do it.""Sorry about that," I tell him, but Mike doesn't acknowledge me.