Cappuccino Calculus

This Sunday at the end of September, a line of mostly caffeine enthusiasts snaked about seventy feet. Halley displayed its color, goldenrod, which adorned the aprons of the workers. Zamona Mince whipped out her marker and inscribed the name of the macchiato recipient. She stood at five feet four inches and possessed the skin color of a black panther’s fur. She was twenty-four. Her hair was coiffed and looked like a frozen fountain of jet black. Her face look small and angular with enough regality to mistake her for the Crown. As a student of First State Community College, she studied therapy and fitness classes.

“Your item will be out in a few moments right down there,” Zamona said it like she was offering a hunk of gold to the person. She was.

“It was dead just a few minutes ago,” Ferlea Downing observed. She was slightly plump with chestnut brown skin. At twenty-years-old she could’ve been mistaken for a teenager.

“It must be a bus,” Zamona posited.

People continued to pour into the travel plaza in Newark, Delaware. The high ceiling and the light which cascaded from the large panels invigorated the place during this afternoon. The bustle of people visiting the fast food restaurants all drove the mind of Zamona.

Twenty-seven-year old Stanfield Boles stood adjacent to her. He stood at six feet two inches and had the color of a blank smartphone screen. His high cheekbones suggested that he had good genes that favored his face. In a past life, he fulfilled the role as a drug dealer. Now, completely reformed, he focused on the legal drug of caffeine.

“The regional manager is going to pop in any moment now,” Boles said.

“Received, sir. Thank you, sir,” Zamona replied.

She had another customer.

After she fit in all the details, she included an excerpt from a sonnet with the name. After the guest picked up the cup and sipped, she noticed the small couplet.

“This is beautiful and tasty, too! Thank you,” the woman looked like she had just come into a small fortune. Her entire day had been transformed by this gesture.

Boles smiled. It was a genuine smile directed towards the lady. When she left the plaza, Boles' smile turned cold.

“What have we talked about?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Z, come on….”

“You saw her face. That was an actual, whole smile. You can’t buy that,” Zamona defended herself.

“Yes, but the bottom line is that we move product, not just dote on the customers.”

“Guests.”

“Of course, guests. Call them what you will. They're paying for our salaries whether you like to admit it or not.”

Zamona looked into his eyes. “You’ll see. They love to see the little drops of knowledge. Just watch,” she said.

With another cup in her hand, this time a cappuccino, she included a calculus problem with her social media site to see if the guest could perform the mathematical equation and come up with the correct response.

“You’re welcome!” Zamona said to the guest who held the cup aloft. He sat at a table and affixed a pair of glasses to his face. He pulled out a pen and began working on a napkin the entirety of the problem. A few minutes and a few more guests passed and the man came bouncing up to the register.

“Done!”

Zamona checked the math. “Correct, sir!” A little party exploded in her brain with streamers, noisemakers, and balloons.

“Thank you for that. It truly made my day,” the man related.

“My pleasure,” Zamona’s teeth showed critical whiteness and absolute straightness.

“Ferlea, use Zamona’s register.” He signaled for Zamona. “Please come back to the pantry with me,” Boles suggested.

Zamona’s smile disappeared from her face as she heeded his soft command.

“What are you doing out there?” He asked. They swung the door and entered the space where they stored scones, muffins, bags of coffee, and provided a station for making sandwiches.

“I’m connecting. These people have been traveling for hours on end maybe to a funeral or a wedding or maybe both. I don’t know. But my job is to ensure that they find a bit of joy in their day despite the grueling hours on the highways and byways.”

“This is a business––”

“I know this is a business. I’m glad I’ve received every deposit. I know that this is a multinational corporation because it is greedy and cares about human flourishing. It doesn’t pander to the ‘environmentalists’ whatever the hell that means. The human environment is their main concern. I know this is a billion-dollar company. They’re actually more interested in rainforests as they replenish what they reap.”

“You’re going someplace else, now. Let’s talk about you. You’re going out there and making too much of a fuss over the delivery of the product.”

“I may be going to FSCC, but I remember from high school about the explorers and the novelists and all of the great scientists that we learned about during those four years,” Zamona retorted with vigor.

“I understand all of that. But that information was just to test your capacity to think. Yet, we have to remember the bottom line here. I’m not about to go back to selling narcotics. This is my way from Wilmington to embrace the world. The other bottom line is, if you continue with these antics, you’ll be making frozen drinks.”

“Let it be,” Zamona said. She walked through the swing door and back out on the floor.

The regional manager stood right in front of her. Kyron Miles stood at six feet tall and was the color of walnut. “Hi, Kyron,” she said.

“Good afternoon, Zamona. I would like a white chocolate mocha with two pumps of raspberry and a shot of espresso,” he outlined.

She knew better than to do only what was asked of her by Boles. She knew the only way to satisfy these two would be to put down exactly what Mr. Miles said.

“Oh, yes. And I wanted to formally tell you that you’ve been selected to be the employee of the quarter. We’re going to be having a party in about an hour. If that’s alright with you Mr. Boles.”

“Quite alright, sir.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Zamona pushed through the swing door and crouched over and emitted an inaudible scream of joy. She then collected herself and then began to say her goodbyes to Mr. Miles.

“Excellent work, young lady,” Miles mentioned.

Boles cracked a smile. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Stan. I appreciate it.”

“But I’ve got some bad news.”

Zamona’s smile vanished again.

“Your drawer has been coming up short over the past few weeks. I’m going to have to bench you. You can make hot drinks and cold drinks but that register is for Ferlea and Chloe.” She was nineteen and light skinned. “Again, congratulations but after today, you’re going to be serving instead of receiving funds.”

Zamona wasn’t crushed. A sense of determination settled in her central nervous system. She knew that she could show Boles, Miles, or anyone that she could perform her role with relish and professionalism. She went back to her register but Ferlea was already there.

“We changed drawers at the end of the hour. I think you and Kyron and Stan were talking.” Zamona still felt her heart boom inside her chest. She looked at the espresso machine like it was a machine gun. She knew how to work it like it was one from her days in the United States Marine Corps. The constant cleaning and the respect for machinery paralleled. She knew about making drinks, but her mind returned to the register. Her smile never dropped, however. In fact, it increased with sincerity as she issued cup after cup until it was time for the party.

At an office room next to the Super Go Burger joint, the managers from all of the restaurants and stores inside the plaza greeted Zamona with smiles. A vanilla cake at the center of the oak table displayed “Congratulations, Zamona!” in blue frosting. A bag sat further down the table.

“Did you want to make a speech?” Telina Grossfeld suggested. She was tallish and was in her early fifties. Her gait and face could have made her pass for someone decades younger. She even nodded her head quickly.

“On behalf of my beautiful, selfish journey, I thank all of you who have had a hand in this day. I truly appreciate your generosity and the fact that so many people have written emails and even sent letters recommending me for this award. I thank my mom and dad and my whole family as well. Thanks, again.”

The presents consisted of a gift card, speaker system and a small laptop computer.

Zamona looked up. “I’ve got this stuff. Is there any way to transform these items into dollars?”

“We cannot do that but we hope you enjoy your items nonetheless,” Telina said and began clapping. Applause resounded against the walls.

“I think I better go put this stuff in my car and then come back to make iced green tea,” Zamona announced. A few laughs went up and scattered claps.

Once she returned to her position at the drinks, Boles called her to the back again. She expected more bad news.

“You won’t have to worry about the register for now, but you can don this burgundy shirt and name tag. You’re now a supervisor.”

With nothing left to do, Zamona kissed Boles on the mouth. A shock of static occurred when their lips met. She withdrew from him.

“You’ll be able to start tomorrow. As supervisors, we’ll be able to work closely on scheduling and ensuring that the employees under us know our––”

She kissed him again. He laughed and smiled. “Let me get this out. You’ll be tasked to take inventory of all of the stock––”

Zamonda locked lips again.

“Alright. I get it. We can finally fraternize. Just let me explain the parameters.”

“Check that the espresso machines are clean, get employees to swab the deck, complete orders for new coffees, and maintain order and discipline amongst the ranks. Is that about right?”

“You’ve stolen the thoughts from my brain. You can put all of that calculus learning to good use, now.”

“Hey, I just memorized the math. I can’t perform it.”

“With the extra money you’ll be making, you will be able to afford more classes at First State.”

A goldenrod wheel in her mind began to spin. She saw the dollars increase and her ability to achieve her dreams beyond the coffee shop grew and grew. She wanted to traverse the world with Boles and the understanding she would capture her own sense of self. As she walked back on to the floor, she kept the news of her promotion on hush. She also didn’t mention the party or the gifts.

Zamona did however return to making drinks and abstained from writing on the cups. When irate customers came to the place where they dispensed drinks, she calmly said she would make it over with the love and care that she had shown so many times before this latest assignment. The role as supervisor glowed in her head. With all of the increased responsibilities, it felt like she moved up to corporal in the Marines.

The brownish green liquid in her hand splashed into a plastic cup and with light ice. When she handed the cup to the woman, she wept.

“I remember you. You offered me a couplet some time ago. It read, ‘Your worries, your cares, your very sorrow,

“Will become a cup of joy for tomorrow.’

I thank you very much for that. May I speak with your supervisor.”

“Of course,” Zamona said.

“This young lady deserves every raise and promotion that can be bestowed upon her. I thank you both for your time.”

A smile curled around Boles’ mouth and he crossed his arms. Zamona looked straight at him and bowed.

“Ferlea,” Boles said. “Please move over to the drink making station. Zamona looks like she wants to fulfill the role of cashier.” Boles walked with Ferlea. Chloe took over the cash registers and the machines as they journeyed to the back of the plaza and retrieved another till for Zamona to work.

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