Room Enough

“Leave room for the milk,” the man said in front of the counter, a little demanding. He stared at his phone, paying no mind to the barista.

Meredith didn’t care for his tone, so Meredith would not leave room for the milk.

“Absolutely!” she said to him, putting her acting lessons to good use.

Who does this dick think he is? She thought. She looked at the man, staring at his phone frantically, typing like he’s the CEO of ExxonMobil, in disgust.

As Meredith filled the cup, she wondered if she was being oversensitive. She wondered if the years of bottled-up anger at every stupid person she interacts with at this job were finally going to make her snap. She does not want to snap today. She cannot snap today.

She considered leaving room for milk.

The man sighed.

“Sorry, can you hurry up? I actually have something meaningful to do,” he said, eyes on his phone, not sorry at all. The man has been in the coffee shop for three minutes.

Meredith will not leave room for milk.

It wasn’t the entitlement that bugged her. If it did, Meredith would be a serial killer by now. No, it was the belief this man clearly held that he was better than her. Better than her job. The belief that his life mattered more because he wore a tailored suit to work and she wore an ugly green apron.

As she placed a lid on the cup of coffee so full that even a drop more would cause it to overflow, she smiled at the customer. “Here you are!” she said, now grinning with teeth.

The man, still focused on his phone, held his hand out, waiting for Meredith to bring the coffee to his hand. Meredith will not be bringing the coffee to his hand. He will look at her.

Meredith remained still as the man's hand stayed out, confident that the drink would end up exactly where he had demanded. After a few moments, the man realized the coffee had not yet been brought to his hand. Meredith got excited. He has to look up now. But the man did not look up. He let out a loud exhale and snapped his fingers.

He snapped his fingers at Meredith.

He snapped his fingers at a person trying her best to pay her rent.

He snapped his fingers at a minimum-wage worker who had been making coffees for entitled pricks for seven hours.

So, officer, you cannot blame Meredith for removing the lid and throwing the hot cup of coffee on the man’s douchey shirt.

The officer did blame Meredith for throwing the hot cup of coffee at the man’s douchey shirt. Ridiculous.

As Meredith exited the police station with her mother, she couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for the predicament she found herself in. The two got into her mother's car and drove in silence for a while.

“God damn it, Meredith, what were you thinking?” Her mother finally snapped. It was the longest the two sat in silence since Meredith learned how to talk. Eight minutes.

“Mom, he snapped his fingers at me! I simply had no choice.” Meredith was defensive.

Her mother sighed, “No, you should have thrown the coffee, but you should have made it look like an accident!” Her mother took her eyes off the road and looked directly at Meredith, which was concerning because they were on the highway.

“What do I always say? If you make it look like an accident, you can still commit violence.” Her mother looked back at the road only because she was disappointed in Meredith, not because she was driving ninety miles an hour on the highway.

Meredith sighed and opened the glove compartment. She took out a pre-roll and a lighter and lit it. As she was placing the joint in her mouth, her mother looked at her and yelled, “Have you lost your mind?”

Her mother angrily put out her hand, and Meredith rolled her eyes and handed her mother the joint. Her mother placed the joint in her mouth and took a long inhale.

“This generation has no manners anymore,” her mother said with smoke coming out of her mouth. She handed the joint back to Meredith.

Meredith finally inhaled and felt the sudden burst of relief she hadn’t felt since, well, since she threw a hot cup of coffee on that man.

She wondered if she should do that more often. Or why she felt so good after she did it.

Did she hate that man? Probably not. She doesn’t know the man, just that he did something shitty. Meredith suspects the man doesn’t even realize what he did or how he treated her. People don’t tend to realize when they are being an asshole. That’s why people continue to be assholes. So why should she feel bad about being an asshole?

Meredith and her mother continued the drive from the police station to Meredith's apartment. But for some reason, the two had a sudden craving for pancakes. They didn’t even say anything; they just drove past the IHOP, looked at each other, and her mother made a U-turn so quickly that she left tire marks on the street.

They parked the car, and they opened their doors, releasing clouds of smoke into the air. An older man was walking to the car next to them and looked at the two with disgust. He shook his head.

“I have a medical card,” the mother said to the man. He rolled his eyes and got into his car.

“So suddenly smoking pot in your car is frowned upon?” Her mother asked Meredith defensively. “We live in a police state,” she continued.

Meredith and her mother sat in a booth, and when their waiter arrived, they ordered strawberry and banana pancakes.

“Coffee?” The waiter asked. Meredith groaned, remembering her situation.

“It’s a touchy subject,” the mother said to the waiter, patting him on the arm. “Uh, okay.” He smiled awkwardly and walked away.

As the two waited for their pancakes, Meredith couldn’t help but worry about her job.

“Do you think work will be mad at me?” She asked her mother. Her mother stared at her with her mouth open, stoned but not that stoned. She finally said, “Yeah, I think they tend to frown upon workers throwing hot cups of coffee on their customers.”

Meredith sighed loudly and looked out the window when she noticed something in the reflection. Two customers, a man and a woman, had just sat down at the booth next to them. What caught her eye was not the people but the suit the man was wearing. She knew that suit. She will never forget that suit. But she convinced herself she was paranoid from the weed.

“Can you believe that psychopath threw a hot cup of coffee on my new suit?” the man said to the woman. Meredith and her mother became frozen.

“I don’t know Todd. I feel like you were being a dick,” the woman said. Of course, his name is Todd, Meredith thought.

“You weren’t even there!” Todd replied.

“Yeah, but plenty of times I’ve wanted to throw a hot cup of coffee on you, so I get it,” the woman told Todd. Meredith liked the woman.

Todd didn’t react angrily. He nodded and muttered, “Fair enough.”

When the same waiter approached Todd and the woman, he asked them if he could get them started with coffee.

“Yes, and are you able to dump that directly on him, or do we have to do that ourselves?” The woman asked with a smile.

“Too soon, Jennifer,” Todd responded. The waiter did not respond or smile.

Meredith studied Todd throughout their meal, saying nothing to her mom. Her mother did not mind; she was devouring pancakes and trying every single syrup IHOP had to offer.

Todd and Jennifer finished their meal before Meredith and her mother, mostly because her mother smoked another preroll in the bathroom and ordered another stack of pancakes. Oreo cheesecake this time. The waiter left the bill, and Meredith paid close attention as Todd grabbed it. The two had split a breakfast sampler. Todd placed money on the table, and the two quickly got up from the booth and walked out of the restaurant.

Meredith needed to know. She couldn’t imagine that Todd was a big tipper. She went up to the booth for a closer look, as if she hoped to see a $20 bill for a $19.98 check. Why did she hope to see that?

As she got closer to the table, she saw a $100 bill. She sat back down at her booth and looked at her mother.

Her mother asked her, “Are you craving onion rings? Don’t onion rings sound so good right now?”

Before Meredith could answer, her phone buzzed. It was a text from her boss. Or, former boss, she thought.

Hey, so normally we are pretty strict about assaulting customers, but Neil called out, and we really need coverage. Can you come in tomorrow? Again, super not okay with the assault stuff, but we’re willing to move past it if you can work tomorrow and also if you don’t try to unionize.

By the time morning came, Meredith had decided on two things. She would not remain silent. And she would not assault anyone else.

Four hours into her shift, Meredith saw a man in a suit approach the counter. It was not Todd. But maybe it was. She realized she had never really looked at Todd’s face.

“What can I get for you?” Meredith asked with a smile. A genuine smile.

“Medium black coffee,” the man said. He took out his American Express card and tapped to pay.

Meredith finished the transaction, and the man began typing an email on his phone.

“Name for the order?” Meredith asked the man.

“Jason”, the man responded. She didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed.

“Leave room for milk,” Jason told Meredith, still looking at his phone.

Meredith stood still. She did not speak, she did not make a face. She stood and looked at Jason. She would not stop until he looked back.

Eventually, Jason felt Meredith's eyes. He slowly looked up.

“Please leave room for milk,” he said.

She will leave room for milk.