Out of Work

(In honor of National Coffee Day which is today, September 29.)

Out of Work

I mentioned last week that I went to Florida and came home to no work. 

And yes, it was a bit of a surprise. 

The coffee shop where I have worked since last November closed. While business was steady, it takes a lot of coffee sales to make money.  I had been told that the store would close in December if business didn't improve. 

The building was also put up for sale, in case someone else wanted to buy the whole place and run it on their own. 

Still.

While I was in Florida I got a text from the owner's son that the shop was done.

Huh? 

Apparently the other part time employee was in the hospital, there was no one to work, so Hey! Why not just shut the whole place down?

At first I understood that the shop was just going to be closed while I was gone. 

Then I realized, no, it's being emptied. No register, no ice cream, no fudge, no nothing. 

And the kicker?  I never got a message from the owner. 

No text. No email. No phone call from my employer. 

Her son was kind enough to let me know what was going on. If not for him, I would have shown up bright and early last Wednesday morning to discover the place had been ransacked. 

I am sad.   

I loved going into work: the smell of the coffee, the routine of turning on the music and making the daily brew.   A lot of love and labor went into that building and daily people would exclaim over what a welcoming place it was. 

My little domain for the past 11 months. 

Beetle kill pine on the walls. 

Everyone commented on that paneling.

I miss my regulars who were given zero advance notice. And still have been given no explanation.

My friend, the espresso machine. 

The paycheck was fun and I only slightly regret cashing the last two and spending them all in Florida on Belle's new apartment. 

Latte, anyone? 

The characters. I said from the beginning that there was a book to be written from working there. Being a barista is akin to being a bartender. People share. A lot. I was a captive audience. And a sympathetic listener. 

That book is still going to be written. 

But on the bright side, my time is again my own. At least as much as a mother and dog owner can say they have their own time. I'm really still a slave to both.

Even Carlos loved the coffee shop.

Bunny would bring him in sometimes.

He may or may not have gotten ice cream. 

And I'm still waiting for that text. Or phone call.  

You know, the one that says "thanks for working for the past year, sorry it didn't work out."

That one. 

(Or Hell! Even one that says "Store is closed for good.")