"A short Caramel Macchiato please," a woman wearing an enormous sunhat ordered.

"Err... sure," I said just as I finished tying the back of my apron. It was 9:30 p.m. and I was wasting my Friday. Luckily, only half an hour and two people left in line. Thank you.

"Here," I said sliding it over to her, "2.25,"

Who wears a sunhat at 9:30 at night seriously? Even if we do live in California where it's sunny everyday, that's just ridiculous. That's like wearing sunglasses at night when you're not blind or albino.

"Excuse me," she said looking at me, then back at her Macchiato her over blushed cheeks poofing out.

"Yes?"

"This is a COLD Caramel Macchiato, NOT a HOT Macchiato," she said angrily, slamming the cup down. The coffee splattered all over the counter, onto my apron and even onto the floor. Let's just say, it had been a long day and that was the last straw.

"LISTEN LADY! WE LIVE IN FREAKIN' CALIFORNIA! WHO ORDERS A HOT MACCHIATO IN CALIFORNIA? AND EVEN IF IT WERE REMOTELY COLD HERE, HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW YOU WANTED IT HOT? YOU DIDN'T EXACTLY SPECIFY!" I screamed.

That's when the manager, Gavin stepped in.

"Callie, I'll handle this, why don't clean yourself up?" he angrily hissed. Whatever.

I kicked the employee restroom door open. For all of you that thought the employee bathrooms at Starbucks are any better than the customer one's, you're an idiot. It's freakin' Starbucks. Starbucks baristas only have an inch more respect than the burger flippers. Trust me, coffee burns, steam burns, verbal burns probably hurt a lot more than simple grease burns.

I moistened a paper towel and dabbed at the caramelcoffee splatters all over my apron. You know I have to pay to have these effing aprons washed right? I'm a college student, it's not like I own my own washer and dryer. I go to a laundry mat like all of the other students. I fixed my hair in the mirror, washed my hands and opened the door to leave. Unfortunately, I bumped into Gavin. Looking rather displeased. -- Which is an understatement.

"Callie." the nagging engine has started.

"Yes el capitan?" I responded. He gave me a serious glare.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Gav, it's not my fault. Her parents were obviously first cousins." I said in my defense.

"Callie, that's the fourth customer you've had an 'incident' with. I can't keep waving away those employee reports. Your lucky you're not fired yet." he said,

I stared at him like "Who me?"

He sighed, "I know this is against everything you're learning at your fancy little university but keep your feelings bottled until your shift is over. You can scream profanities at people until you get arrested for all I care, just as long as you're not on a shift."

"First of all, it's my third customer I've had an 'incident' with, and you know I appreciate you keeping me employed," I said hugging him, "But seriously, me spazzing at customers is not nearly as bad as you eye fucking hot male customers. Face it; you don't have a chance against a straight girl." I said with a grin.

"Get to work before I fire your ass right now," he said rolling his eyes and shoving me towards the counter

That is Gavin Braft, resident gay guy but also a highly qualified social butterfly

"Hi, what will you have?" I asked with a smile to the next customer. He was in his late twenties with brown hair, blue eyes. Not very typical of the blonde beach bums that were typical to the area.

"May I have a decaf grande, half-soy, half-low fat, iced vanilla, double-shot, gingerbread cappuccino, extra dry, light ice, with one Sweet-n'-Low and one NutraSweet?" he asked. I stared at him like "WTF?"

"Could you repeat that?" I asked him. And he did.

This guy can't be serious.

"Could you make it a little more complex order?" I muttered before walking over to the machines to start.

"Why? You're not busy enough as it is?" he called. At his unexpected comment, I spilled a quite a bit of steamed milk on my apron... great. My hands shaking with anger poured the two cancer-causing-sugar substitutions into his cup and jammed the lid on, careful not to burn myself.

"Here," I said placing the cup on the counter and jamming the register's keys, "That's 3.50."

He handed me the money with a smile and for a moment I was compelled to smile back.

"Have a good night," he said grinning while putting the change into his pocket. That's when my patience snapped like a twig.

I picked up his cup that he had not yet taken, wrenched the cap off and dumped it on his shirt. He screamed like a little girl. I ripped my apron off, threw it on the ground and kicked the entrance door open and left.

I'm so fired and damn it, it has never felt so liberating.