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01/01/11

"I'd like a triple Venti half-sweet white mocha, please," says the woman. Her curly brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she digs through her purse for change.

I nod absently, pick up my sharpie and mark the drink, putting it on the bar next to the other three drinks that have already been ordered. My hand scrapes against the white fabric and I pause, glancing at the alarm clock on my nightstand. Two AM. Wait...

"What the fuck are you people doing in my house?" I mutter, shaking off the last fragments of the dream. Still half-asleep, I imagine that the customers are waiting impatiently in my living room. Irritated and disoriented, I curl up and try to go back to sleep.

Coffee. Scare Factor: 4.

And working New Years Day... what a nightmare.