booth with her feet up and crossed at the ankles. She can see the front door, but we haven’t had a real customer in almost an hour and she’s already done all her side work, stuffing sugar packets into the bins on the table, filling salt and pepper containers, and deep cleaning the coffee machine.
She lifts her eyes from her phone to answer, “Talking to Hannah. You need something?” She makes zero move to get up.
Richard shakes his head. “Nope, you just proved my point. Thanks.” To me, he says, “See, Olivia’s on the clock and she’s chitter-chattering away with her girl. She look anxious about that?”
I glance over and see that Olivia is smiling at her glowing screen at something Hannah said, not a care or concern in the world with doing that while she’s supposed to be working.
Unc lowers his voice, leaning in to me, “Ain’t her fault we aren’t busy. She’s guaranteed forty hours and she works ‘em, whether I need her or not. Sure as shit, someone comes in, she’ll hop up and take care of ’em like she’s s’posed to.”
I know he’s right. I’m just used to buzzing around, being busy. Being in the city, there’s always something going on. This slower pace of life is . . . different.
I like it, I think. It’s just going to take me some time to get used to.
Doc drops his beer can to the table with a thud. “I got a question. Hank tells me you take pictures and sell them on the interwebs, but not portraits and such. I ain’t never heard such a thing. People pay for pictures that aren’t their kids or their dogs?”
I laugh. It’s a generational thing. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. I do photography—portraits and commercial stuff when I get a client. But mostly, I get paid from my social media account, which is monetized because of the number of followers I have. For that, I take random shots of my day, usually close-ups with short captions, and post them. People check in and see what I’m up to.”
Three sets of scrunched brows meet my explanation so I try again.
I pull out my phone, click into my social media app, and show them. “See, here’s today . . . my morning cup of coffee, a stoplight over Main Street, the parking lot out front, and a shot of the neon reflecting off the spotless bar.”
I click into each picture, pointing out the number of hearts and comments. “The more people who look at the pictures, like them, and comment, the more money I get.”
Doc moves his glasses down his nose and leans in closer to focus on my phone. “That’s a job? Those pictures are real nice, I guess, but you can’t even see you in them. Or anyone. It’s . . . a cup of coffee.” He shrugs, and I can’t help but giggle a little.
“I know, it’s different. People are curious creatures by nature. We like to see what other people’s lives are like, so I show them mine. It lets me do photography, stay anonymous, and make a living. Well, that plus ‘working’ behind the bar.” I do air quotes around the ‘working’ as I look at Unc because I’m still sitting on my butt, talking instead of helping.
The sound of gravel crunching out front breaks up my TED talk on creative ways to turn hobbies into careers. I hop up, pointing at the three guys, asking if they want another round, but they all decline. “Nah, we’ve got a game to get to. Sunday night poker. Hank’s turn to host.”
“Don’t go too hard on him, fellas. Payday’s coming and I’ve got my eye on a new lens filter for my camera.” I smile and swoop behind the bar as Olivia pockets her phone and goes to greet the next round of customers.
The dinner rush is more of a trickle, but it gives me something to focus on as I make drinks for Olivia. I add a couple of cherries and a dash of grenadine to some Sprites for a family with two little girls, delivering their Princess Punch to delighted giggles. A few beers here and there, but mostly, I pull soft drinks and sweet tea to accompany the food the few tables order from Ilene.
Unc leaves with Richard and Doc, heading to their weekly game. I’m glad he’s got friends, and now that I’m here as bar backup, they can play earlier because I