The café reopened for to-go service a few months after the beginning of the Covid lockdown. This second spot had a wrap-around wooden bar, bare-bulb lighting, and tall windows with mountain views. It was also busy (meaning good tips), and had two locations, for variety: one in a hip hotel on the edge of downtown, and another in an old furniture warehouse beside a thriving bakery. He had chosen this particular café because he was interested in roasting, and this place had achieved national acclaim for its espresso blend. Your barista began working here back in May 2020. He jogs out to the man, who grabs the note and begins dialing as he crosses the street, his gait long, his free arm swinging like a mallet. With shaky hands, he writes down one of the owners’ numbers. Your barista prints out a piece of receipt paper. “You can wait outside and I’ll bring it to you,” your barista says. “I’m sure business is going great for you,” he says. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” the man yells.
“Let me get this straight, you’re going to deny me service right now? Me, a paying customer?” he says. He pulls off his sunglasses and juts out his bottom jaw. “Well it’s also our cafe policy,” stutters your barista, “so if you don’t have one, I’ll unfortunately have to ask you to leave.” He looks to Amin for support, but Amin is hiding behind a pillar. You really think those things are going to protect you? Yeah, right! And it’s not even that serious.” He leans in.
“It’s not the law,” the man says, pacing. “Are you really asking me that?” he says. “If you have a mask that you could put on, that would be great.” “Hello sir,” your barista says, neck hairs hackling.
Your barista sees a baseball cap, sunglasses, no mask. He’s tall, in cargo shorts and a t-shirt. Now, though, it’s quiet: a late-spring day with sun-bleached sidewalks and a glass door that flashes when it opens.Ī customer. There is, in fact, nowhere to settle at all, although customers sometimes try, walking away as if to look out the window, slipping off their masks, and then sipping their drinks with their noses pointed into the far back corner. The metal countertops gleam a sterile gray, while the menu, the espresso machine, and the stacks of dusty mugs are all the same shade of medical green. He looks over to his coworker, a burly Iranian man named Amin, who’s looking down at his phone. He checks sales on the iPad: down 23% from last week.
Hours into his shift, a low-grade headache has settled behind his eyes. His mask, filter-equipped and pulled tight along the jawline, tenses his ears toward the door. Your barista leans back against the counter behind the bar.
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