The Exciting Days of Charles Baxter 7

Day 7 - Thursday

     I did it. I got a job. Not my dream job, but it is enough to keep a roof over my head until Trinity comes through.

     I was at the diner yesterday afternoon. Hoping it would help my creative juices. Anne didn’t come in for another hour or so, which meant I was able to make my order of coffee and four-minute soft boiled eggs in peace. I sat at the counter next to an elderly vagabond who was wiping his sweat with the local paper.

I was scanning through my Peruvian cook paraphernalia, imagining the different spices topped on my meal, and that the local espresso beans were roasted and ground for my own coffee.

     As I came to the chapter of causa and cuy (Guinea Pig). The vagabond in a fit of spontaneous rage. Stands up, shouts, throws his cup of water down and tosses the drenched paper my way. He gathers his items and shuffles out the door. The diner remains silent. The eyes of the room fixated on me. I could tell they believed I had in some way set him off. I bring the moist pages to my face and hide away.

     Seconds later, the guests carry on with their chatter. I examine the column when a voice calls out and asks, “Refill?”. Without looking I know it’s the girl from last week. I looked up and saw her standing before with a pitcher of coffee. She jingled the pitcher. I raised my cup. She poured, shot me a smile, and left my gaze. How such a beautiful being could be trapped here is beyond me. Her spirit and… right, the job.

     So, I set the paper down and before I get a chance to pay, I notice a part of the classified not covered in sweat. It is listed for a barista position at a local café which stated:

     Minimum wage, part time hours, no experience required!

     It was a gift from the gods. I cut out the page with address and headed back to my apartment.

     When I arrived at home, I broke out the laptop and found that the café was located directly behind the diner where the angel from on high works. So, I scrounged together what I could of my suit from that rigged interview and was off.

     Upon arriving, I am met by a whole in the wall shop and a sign overhead that read:

Coffee.

I enter and become assaulted by the smell of dust and various spices. There are three customers. Two elderly men sitting side by side in silence, and a much older woman sleeping and seated against the opposite wall. A small man exited from the back and posted up behind the counter. He wore a tan- pin stripped Guayabera shirt.

     “Welcome.” he says with the biggest frown.

     “I am here for the position” I say.

     He proceeds, “You ever work for me before?”

     I remain in place, I was taken aback from his question.

The stench of B-O and cheap street cologne wafted from his body to ceiling, to the windows and the walls. It lingered and married the smell of his breath, and his store. I have never been more unsettled, more insulted, then by his medley of smells. But I need the job. I need to live. So, I stepped forward and answered.

     “No.”

     He stared at me. Not just me in the moment, but at my entire being. As if his beady eyes were hyper-cybernetic spheres developed in a lab in some unknown town in New Mexico. After I awhile I felt as if the look was driven by lust. It was then I began to regret my persistence to inquire about said job. However, if it was required of me, I was willing.

     “I don’t hire artists.”

     That term, that f*****g term, artist. He may as well have labeled me a damn vagrant. Artist, what nerve! I immediately met his statement with the truth.

     “Sir, I am no artist…”

 I stepped forward that moment for emphasis.

     “…I am a writer.”

And believe it when I say he bellowed out an orcish laugh that somehow did not disturb the patrons of his shop.

     “Sir, please, I am here to inquire about the position and I find your nature to be the very proof of why you are currently seeking new employees. If you continue to meet my inquiry with such boorish…brute-like manner I will be on my way!”

     Just like that… exactly like that.

     He just removed a cigar from his shirt pocket, took his time with this matchbox and smirked.

      "Employee..."

He struck the match on his counter and lit the cigar.

     “....I prefer indentured servant.”

     What soon followed was a cloud of smoke that added to the sinister scents and accompanied by his howl of laughter. Now in this moment my reaction was calm and calculated. I wanted to step forward, smack that cigar from his a*s of a mug, tactfully turn, march and exit. That would soon lead to me to take charge, rush to the diner and make my way to that angelic beauty, take her in my arms and kiss her.

    Right as I took that first step to her lips.

     “If you can start tomorrow, you’re hired.”

     He gripped his cigar and puffed a death cloud from his mouth.

     I took a step forward presented my hand and was met with a gorilla grip. We exchanged names and I was told to arrive exactly at Seven a.m. to begin my first workday. I began to ask about the required forms and he simply waved me off.

     “Tomorrow, tomorrow.”

     Another cloud escaped his mouth as he continued.

     “Go, go, go! Everyone go now! We’re closed!”

     I cannot describe the disgust on my face nor the unaffected faces of his patrons as we exited the shop.

     With a slam of the door. A turn of the key. He was closed.

     I stood there for an entire minute to take it all in. During the climax of my reflection I met eyes with, her.

     She untied her apron as she exited the diner. In that moment I saw her gracefully fold her apron, put it into her purse and retrieve her keys. And in the most beautiful way she drew me in further and further until it happened. As she shielded her eyes from the inferior beauty of the sun, she saw me. Of the two gazes made on me that day, hers was more welcomed, more heavenly and more mesmerizing. The moment she waved at me was the moment my heart wept.

     Like a coward I ran from the battlefield that hart so vividly described. Towards the opposite way of my apartment. Away from the bright presence of this creature.

     I waited six hours a block away at a park bench to reflect (and to hide) before I returned  home. As I type this canto of my life. It makes me aware of the mystical nature of the environment and its inhabitants.

     Tomorrow will provide more magic to become entranced by and beholden to.

     I ate an onion bagel with a thin spread cream cheese from the deli near the park. New day…new me.