God, I’ve got to quit this job. I hate it here. I hate it here. I hate it here. “I’ve got one tall caramel macchiato for Jessica!” This is the worst job. People suck. “Thank you! Take care.” We’re short staffed. Our manager is passive aggressively giving us side eye for not smiling enough. “Have a great day!” I would do anything to get the Hell out of here. “Hey there!” Why is it always so busy? “And Brad, yours is coming up my friend!” I’m about to explode.

“Is this mine?”

I don’t look up from the espresso machine. Too busy. I’m making 6 drinks at the same time. Maybe if I just ignore him and pretend I didn’t hear he’ll realize that the name is written on the cup. What, is it his first time ever in a Starbucks or something? He should have been listening when I called the drink. “Grande iced vanilla latte for Brad!” Why is he still staring at me? I haven’t even looked at him but I feel his gaze on the top of my head. Jesus there are like 10 regulars standing behind him someone just tell him to pull down the sleeve, it’s getting creepy at this point.

I do a 180 to the cold bar and start making a Frappuccino.

“Excuse me?”

I don’t turn around. Figure it out, man.

“Is this my drink?”

Not unless your name is Carol, like it says under your thumb. People are so arrogant. I don’t think I can take another day at this job.

I slam the empty frap cup down and roll my eyes before turning on my customer service voice.

“That depends, sir, is your name Carol?”

“What?”

“It says Carol.” I spin the cup around and he leans back to read it. A lady old enough to be the crypt keeper comes and grabs her drink, looking annoyed that this man was caging it for so long.

“Oh. Well where’s my drink?”

“I don’t know, what is your name?” I hate when people do this. As if I’m supposed to know who you are. Now I have to pause my flow and check the name of every single drink for your dumbass sugar-filled cup.

“Really?”

Excuse me?! The audacity of this man to think I would—

I finally look up at him. It’s fucking Caleb Went. Caleb fucking Went. I’m mortified.

“Holy shit.”

He stares at me, smiling expectantly, still waiting for his drink. He’s a lot taller in person than he looks from the posters on my childhood walls.

“You’re Caleb Went.”

“Yeah, I had a grande flat white.”

“You’re Caleb fucking Went!”

My manager’s head snapped around and he came barrelling toward me. I already knew I was going to be fired. Not swearing at customers is like, the number one rule.

I couldn’t care less.

“I was like, obsessed with you when I was in high school!”

“Yeah,” he laughed, “I get that a lot.”

“Oh my God.” I didn’t know what to do with my hands “Can I get a picture? Or an autograph or something?”

My manager was behind me saying something about all the other customers waiting.

“Yeah, of course,” he seemed so cool about everything, I bet this happens to him all the time. “I actually have a box of signed vinyls in the car if you want one.”

What the fuck? Really? He’d just give it to me like that?! He must have seen the look on my face.

“In exchange for a flat white, of course.”

Shit, right! I scramble to pour the steamed milk into the cup and my hands are shaking as I put the lid on top and hand it to him.

I vaguely hear my manager spewing some bullshit about no phones on the floor as I pull mine from my pocket and walk past him. I start taking off my apron.

“It’s not your break yet.”

“I quit.”

“What?”

I wasn’t going to answer. No way was I going to let my manager— ex-manager— ruin the best day of my life. I just walked around the counter and followed Caleb outside, sipping on Brad’s overpriced iced latte as I walked out of the gates of Hell.