girl like me, so grounded and knowledgeable about one’s self—insert eye roll—it’s just a little bit overstimulating, thus the need for some alone time.
I’m handling it, while still attempting to keep a very important piece of who I am burning inside of me as I continue to try to figure out how to forge and maintain real friendships in a place where most of the people actually think their way of living is civilized and those outside the walls of their ivory towers are animalistic. I know many don’t get it—they’ve never lived it—but their reality is no more realistic than the shit we’re inundated with on television and social media to sway the masses. Yet, without a break, it’s overwhelming and still could easily spark anxiety inside of me, threatening to burn everything I’ve had to work for to ashes like a forest fire. So, self-maintenance and balance is a must.
Unlike the whispered names they used to call me behind my back, I have adjusted. Yet, I still need to find my center again on occasion, and there was no way in hell to do that amongst teenagers full of their angst and raging hormones with not a care in the world behind the screen and what they see, and hiding with the flipped screen of the selfies they shamelessly filter and share, further feeding into the skewed sense that the real world is just like those stupid reality shows that so many manage their lives around, believing that’s how life should look.
I’m not a hundred percent sure if I connect more with earlier women’s rights activists, my heroes, Susan B. Anthony, Alice Paul, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Lucy Stone, Ida B. Wells, Frances E.W. Harper, and Mary Church Terrell, who paved the way for women in the feminist movement in the 70s, or women who started the feminist movement and continue to strengthen it. Regardless, by the time I walk out these doors, I’m sure I’ll know. Why else would they leave me here?
I look at the clock and sigh. Five minutes until lights out. Thankfully, it’s been dead all night, since Marcy only scheduled me to close, knowing that most of the world is at home, cooking pies, or traveling to be with family for the holidays.
I have the espresso machine so clean it’s shining, not because I’m overly ambitious but because it’s been dead most of the night. Only one of the three bean to cup machines is running with my very own special pumpkin spice recipe to fill up my thermos for Chloe in the morning, giving her at least a taste of the holiday that she’s missing. It won’t take me the normal half-hour of cleaning time after hours, and I’ll be home earlier than expected.
When a beep comes through my headset, telling me someone is here, I groan to myself before saying, “Welcome to The Bean. What can I get for you tonight?”
Snickers come through my headset, and I roll my eyes, bite my tongue, and wait for the bullshit to subside.
“This is our first time; please be gentle.” A guy chuckles.
You have got to be kidding me. I cringe to myself. I hate these kinds of idiots.
“Any suggestions?” a smooth, low, raspy voice says, or sings, or tries to sound sexy—whatever.
Gross.
I don’t say a thing.
“Tell me; is there a secret bean that will make me crave no other bean ever again?” Yet another male voice asks.
“Bro, do not do that to her. If she tells you, she could get fired,” smooth, low, raspy voice says, or sings, or tries to sound sexy—again, whatever.
Again, Gross!
And then … all together, they laugh hysterically, and a couple different voices say, “For spilling the beans!”
“We close in two minutes, so either order or drive away with some dignity.”
“Oh, shit.” One laughs.
“Guessing that means no time for a sampling?” Another now laughs.
Fuck them, I think as I watch the clock tick to nine p.m. and reach over, killing the lights.
“Oh, come on; it’s a holiday. We’re weary travelers who want to chow down on the bean. Be kind and ask yourself: what would Jesus do?”
One of them whispers as if I can’t freaking hear them, “It’s Thanksgiving Eve, man; Jesus is next month, so it should be: what would the Pilgrims do?”
I hear a laugh. “Right, too much smoke.”
And now they’re pulling at my one heartstring. They’re high, which somehow makes stupidity a little more bearable.
I let out a long, exaggerated sigh then tell them, “You have two