HEATHER BAY

At work, I power on coffee machines and add beans and powder to their tops, then I wipe down the counter and scramble to the cash register. "Hello, what can I get you." I ask a middle aged man who side grins a bit too sexually.

"You're number, beautiful, my name's Damon."

"Four three four..." I begin, allowing the guy to prepare to clock this info in his phone with hungry fingertips. "Cream, sugar, and honey, to be honest that's the best way to drink coffee."

The man pauses his hasty fingers. "Uh..." He clears his throat awkwardly. "A tall coffee is fine. Black."

"Coming right up." The guy shuts down, defeated, as his eyes hurry to browse a bookcase towards the back of the shop. I begin to pour the coal black coffee, topping it off with a lid. I scribble the guys name, Damon, on the side of the cup before sliding it over to the register. "$1.85" I notify. Damon swipes his card fast and wraps a napkin around the hot cup and speeds off.

The next customers are a group of five college kids sprouting Harry Potter shirts. "We fancy a butter beer from The Three Broom Sticks, grande for all!" A curly, brown haired girl exclaims. I chuckle at this and nod slow enough to show appreciation for those who unlock the secret Starbucks drinks.

"Of course, students of Hogwarts!" I prepare five grande crème Frappuccinos, using 100% milk. Then I add three pumps each of caramel syrup and toffee nut syrup, ending the creations with caramel drizzled over fluffy foam. I, like an octopus, place each cup into a tray holder. "That'll be $24.25."

On break, I park my bum in a cool seat, which feels so refreshing after standing for seven hours. The room holds two vending machines, one full of sodas, and the other full of cakes, chips and candy. I could buy something, but I need to save what little money I have.

On my phone, I select my Chase app, use fingerprint access, and view my funds, All that's in my bank account is $37.19. That has to last until next paycheck, so I need to get a jug of water, noodles, peanut butter jelly, bread, lemon cookies...not the Oreos type, and cheap candles. Or I'll  just use my phone flashlight and save a few bucks. I tap the home button, going to my notes and copy down the food items, marking a maybe next to the candles.

Jenna would lend me money, but I hate being a bagger...plus I have too much pride. Why can't I be like Jeremy? He has no problem asking our patents for $200 here and there for unexpected school fees...more like drug fees. If anything he needs rehab, people think weed isn't a drug, something that alerted your mind, changes your mood, and causes severe depression and suicidal thoughts. It triggers a mental breakdown and memory loss, all it takes is a google search to find this out, but my parents are old. Mom is 43 and dad is 50.

I notice the time and hurry up, I have five minutes, enough time to visit my boss.

Charlie's office is nothing fancy, it's small, cluttered with boxes and papers. I knock my knuckle against the door, loud enough to get his attention. He looks up from his desk, a chubby guy with slicked back haired, he could be 30 or 60... years weigh on his eyes but avoid his face. "Hello Heather, how can I help you?"

"Hello." I step into his office. "I hate to sound like a broken record, but, I need extra hours."

"Ahh..." his grunt is deep and long. "I understand the struggle, but peak hours aren't until the holidays, I can't fit you in. Please don't take this personal, but a second job may be needed if you're in need."

I let my eyes drop to the floor. "Second job." My voice fades-away a little.

"AMC Theaters are hiring, Target as well for $12 and hour." He goes on, with more of a motivational tap in his voice.

"Thank you for the suggestions, I'll be sure to apply." A smile forcefully.

After work, I stand outside of Starbucks like a smoker, except I don't smoke, but boy do I see why people do. Stress. Anger. Depression. I breathe in the smell of the nearby city, staring at concrete below me, and feeling the heat of the sun. Another job...it has to be close by...I don't have a car nor enough money for an Uber, so I walk to work.

I live six blocks away from a strip, where companies and restaurants are lined on like a runway. Target is three blocks down, AMC is a mile more away. I need somewhere that's hiring fast, and that's close enough.

Target, my mind decides.

As I walk the street of honking and moving cars, I take out my phone, and yet again, curiosity gets to me. I seek out tiktok again, to find that my video has 5 million 480,777k comments. I suck so much air into my lungs that my eyes bulge and my throat contorts inwards.

"HOLY SHIT!!!"

With Facebook, I create an account. As I wait for a crossing light, I record myself, making duck lips and smirking. When done, I feel my stomach drop, for viewing myself as a product more than a human. As a profit. Like an attention whore, a paid shallow woman. Against my better judgment, I post the video, tagging it #model #Starbucks, #tiktok. I see suggested tags pop up, trending tags, and select them, #fyp, #hot #girlpower.

My fingers dial Jenna's number as I hop in place like a maniac. A burst of energy, a high drug of an effect, my gloomy mood is gone. My struggle of money and job hunting flies out my ears.

When I spot the Target sign, I halt in place, eyeing the red and white bulls eye.

Should I be rational or reckless? Girls get paid from social media much better than a common job, so is it reckless? Am I overthinking? Should I milk the fact that I'm beautiful???