Two Weeks

Two Weeks – Grizzly Bear (listen in a new tab)

Some days are longer than others. K works two jobs: Part-time as a public librarian and the rest of the time, practically most of his “free” time, he slings espresso at Café Ulysses. It’s not a bad gig. But he’s tired today. He’s late, too. His friend behind the counter, the slender and indefatigable Claire, throws him an apron. In a blind methodical way he ties it on and washes his hands. He takes his post behind the espresso machine. The smell of fresh ground beans usually woke him up, but today it teases his nose with limp promise.
Claire: “You’re late.”
K: “Almost always. Busy?”
Claire: “Almost never.”
She’s right. The place is almost empty. But soon, people walk in and ask for cappuccinos. Everybody who comes in orders like they’re in Starbucks. Grande. Tall. Café Ulysses has one size, which is always a site of confusion for newcomers; the lack of choice is occasionally beleaguering.
Claire: “Anyways, they never come until our star hitter gets here.” She slaps K on the back causing him to spill steamed milk over himself.
K: “That was perfect foam.”
Claire: “I got a post card from Shannon. Looks like she’s having fun.”
K gives her a tired look and resumes staring dully out the window as he pulls the shots of espresso. The new milk roars into foam.
K: “Yeah. I guess she must be. I haven’t talked to her this week. We’re both busy you know? She’s got her classes and is trying to get as much out of Paris as possible. I can’t blame her.”
Claire to K: “Totally. Gotcha.”; to a new customer: “Well no. We only have one size.”; to K, again: “Low fat latte. Soy Chai, no foam.”
K: “Right. You know Shannon, she gets absorbed by the world around her. It’s been a month or so, she’s settling in.”
Claire: “She won’t forget about you. She’s probably busy. I’ve known her for like forever. She’d tell me, you know.”
K: “Sir, your low fat latte. The soy latte will be just a moment.”; to Claire: “Try to make me worry less. Ok?”
Claire: “I’m sure she’s passed out in the disheveled bed of some graying poet, spent from wine and love making. She’ll touch base soon. No doubt.”
K: “No doubt. Soy latte. Why even order a drink if you’re going to walk away? Soy latte!”
Claire: “Cheer up. Wanna come out later? We’re all going out somewhere, anywhere.”
K: “Try and sell it a little, ok? Soy latte!”
The old hand of a caped, gray haired woman grabs the white ceramic cup. She takes a sip. “This is cold. Can you make me a new one? And I said no foam.” Foamless coffee drinks are a fantasy. A myth. He dumps the cup in the sink and starts the drink over. The length of a day is proportional to the number of moments such as these.