Wannabe Coffee Date [Open]
Jul 4, 2017 19:02:33 GMT -5
Post by Feliciano Vargas on Jul 4, 2017 19:02:33 GMT -5
Feliciano stared blankly at the plate in his hand. It took much longer than it should have for Feliciano to realize that he'd been wiping that plate clear of food for at least a few minutes, simply because he zoned out. Golden eyes burned as he finally blinked, tipping the plate towards the sink and hosing it down. The school's cafe was busy enough for the board to have put in an industrial dishwasher at least, so he just had to hose off all the visible food and stains off the plate and load it into the machine. Then unload--careful of the steam--and stack up for the servers to reuse--and re-dirty, so he had to wash them again. And again.
The humdrum literal wash-rinse-repeat was lulling Feliciano's exhaustion-heavy mind straight into a sleep-thick fog that was hard to escape. His eyes were red with exhaustion, and Feliciano was ten seconds away from resting his head on the steel runway and passing out, water and foodscraps be damned.
It was time for another espresso.
Carefully loading up his last load of dishes, Feliciano closed the hatch and turned the machine on. Then, once it was running the latest load, Feliciano stumbled away and wiped off his spastically trembling hands with a towel, ignoring how they were bright red with steam burns and cracking at the knuckles from the constant barrage of soap and bleach. He meandered out of the back of the cafe, mindlessly waving to the barista on-duty as he went to the espresso machine to start his fifth cup. Feliciano had hours-ago given up the idea of drinking espresso in their traditional cups--instead making a full coffee cup of the stuff with every drink.
Feliciano had been awake for two, nearing three full days now, working on last-minute changes to a dress he'd been making for one of his classes. It was for a surprisingly hefty chunk of his grade without being a midterm, and Feliciano had discovered he'd used the wrong stitch compared to the instructions he'd been given. Thus, he'd had to go and cut all his seams and start over. Feliciano had only come to the cafe for a cup of espresso and a chance to stretch his limbs before he broke his back over his sewing machine before passing out.
Just in time for the cafe manager to spot him and beg him to cover for her late dishwasher. Which was unfair, because Feliciano knew he needed to sleep--wanted to sleep so bad--but the cafe had been filling up. One barista and waitress alongside the manager wouldn't be able to keep up with the onslaught of caffeine addicted masses. Feliciano couldn't say no, but at least the manager had sweetened the pot and let him have whatever drinks he wanted, on the clock, so long as he stayed the full shift.
It was a mistake to glance at the clock. He was hours away from close, and he had a 9am class tomorrow. Feliciano slumped against the counter to hide beneath the large display of teas and condiments. Then he rubbed his eyes, partially to stave off the urge to sob in exhaustion and also trying to massage the ache from them. It hurt more than anything, uncontrollable, jittery fingers jabbing himself in the eyes. It was the thought that counted, right?
A flurry of movement in the corner of his eyes caught Feliciano's attention. When he looked up, the barista was waving desperately at him, miming taking a drag off a cigarette whilst simultaneously gesturing towards the back. That really made Feliciano want to cry. Still, though, he nodded with a weak smile, waving her off for her cigarette break. Looks like he wasn't going to nurse this espresso--though he rarely did, anyway.
Feliciano pushed upright once again, carefully scooping up his drink only to take the entire like a shot. He visibly twitched as the heat seared down his throat and through his chest. He shuddered again, much harsher and more pronounced in attempts to shake off that same burn. he stepped over to the cash register. He greeted his new customer with a bright smile. He was the picture of composure from the shoulders up. His hands, however, skittered along the edge of the counter like spiders for all the control he had over them. "Hello! Do you know what you'd like to order, or would you like a few more moments to decide?"
The humdrum literal wash-rinse-repeat was lulling Feliciano's exhaustion-heavy mind straight into a sleep-thick fog that was hard to escape. His eyes were red with exhaustion, and Feliciano was ten seconds away from resting his head on the steel runway and passing out, water and foodscraps be damned.
It was time for another espresso.
Carefully loading up his last load of dishes, Feliciano closed the hatch and turned the machine on. Then, once it was running the latest load, Feliciano stumbled away and wiped off his spastically trembling hands with a towel, ignoring how they were bright red with steam burns and cracking at the knuckles from the constant barrage of soap and bleach. He meandered out of the back of the cafe, mindlessly waving to the barista on-duty as he went to the espresso machine to start his fifth cup. Feliciano had hours-ago given up the idea of drinking espresso in their traditional cups--instead making a full coffee cup of the stuff with every drink.
Feliciano had been awake for two, nearing three full days now, working on last-minute changes to a dress he'd been making for one of his classes. It was for a surprisingly hefty chunk of his grade without being a midterm, and Feliciano had discovered he'd used the wrong stitch compared to the instructions he'd been given. Thus, he'd had to go and cut all his seams and start over. Feliciano had only come to the cafe for a cup of espresso and a chance to stretch his limbs before he broke his back over his sewing machine before passing out.
Just in time for the cafe manager to spot him and beg him to cover for her late dishwasher. Which was unfair, because Feliciano knew he needed to sleep--wanted to sleep so bad--but the cafe had been filling up. One barista and waitress alongside the manager wouldn't be able to keep up with the onslaught of caffeine addicted masses. Feliciano couldn't say no, but at least the manager had sweetened the pot and let him have whatever drinks he wanted, on the clock, so long as he stayed the full shift.
It was a mistake to glance at the clock. He was hours away from close, and he had a 9am class tomorrow. Feliciano slumped against the counter to hide beneath the large display of teas and condiments. Then he rubbed his eyes, partially to stave off the urge to sob in exhaustion and also trying to massage the ache from them. It hurt more than anything, uncontrollable, jittery fingers jabbing himself in the eyes. It was the thought that counted, right?
A flurry of movement in the corner of his eyes caught Feliciano's attention. When he looked up, the barista was waving desperately at him, miming taking a drag off a cigarette whilst simultaneously gesturing towards the back. That really made Feliciano want to cry. Still, though, he nodded with a weak smile, waving her off for her cigarette break. Looks like he wasn't going to nurse this espresso--though he rarely did, anyway.
Feliciano pushed upright once again, carefully scooping up his drink only to take the entire like a shot. He visibly twitched as the heat seared down his throat and through his chest. He shuddered again, much harsher and more pronounced in attempts to shake off that same burn. he stepped over to the cash register. He greeted his new customer with a bright smile. He was the picture of composure from the shoulders up. His hands, however, skittered along the edge of the counter like spiders for all the control he had over them. "Hello! Do you know what you'd like to order, or would you like a few more moments to decide?"
