JENNY THE BARISTA'S POV

 JENNY THE BARISTA'S POV

 

Another day at Brew Oasis, fixing lattes and mopping up floors after people who seem to think coffee shops are free unloading rooms. The afternoon was still young as far as my shift was concerned when they strolled in, another run-of-the-mill couple on the verge of exploding. I was right.

 

“Jessica, this is it,” the guy- Dino, I think, said in a voice that sparked curiosity all around the shop. Medium built, wiry, and with the practised air of someone who had rehearsed his lines a thousand times the previous night and all morning.

 

Jessica, of course, went ballistic. She was the picture of a drama queen with dramatic hand gestures and broad eyes as if she were camping with a herd of wild elephants all night. “You’re serious? Do you want to break up with me right here? In this darned coffee shop?

 

Now, this unfolding scene was attracting the full attention of customers pretending to be half-interested but not eavesdropping.

 

I leaned against the counter, wiping the top surface needlessly because I wanted a ring-side frontal view of this disaster. What is love? It is a dirty joke, after all. If love were a beverage, it would be a concoction that is so tempting to look at but tastes like a disappointment.

 

“You’re incredulous, Dino! Did you find someone else? Just spill the beans! Jessica’s voice was a high shrill with signs of cracking, and I felt a strange pity for her. I could relate to her and felt a peculiar affinity towards her. But then again, romance, what did you expect? Romance always ends with smashed coffee mugs and broken hearts- or both.

 

Dino blinked hard, “No, Jessica. It’s not someone else. It’s just me. I’m sick and tired of your nagging. We have been fighting nonstop since we met and have had endless fights. I want to move on.”

 

I almost did a double-take. It was a classic line. It’s the same with all stupid nagging bitches who have a knack of driving their men up the wall all the time.

 

Jessica’s face went from disbelief to explosive rage in just a fraction of a second. “You coward. You don’t even have the guts to admit it!”. She screamed as she flung her coffee mug ferociously against the wall. Before I could restrain her, the mug hit the wall with force, and it shattered, sending fragments of ceramic and lukewarm cappuccino flying in the air.

 

“Hey! Not the wall!” I snapped before I could stop myself. The other customers froze momentarily, taking in the high-voltage drama. Someone whipped out a cell phone and started filming. Oh, great. It was another viral moment on social media.

 

Jessica turned her attention towards me, her makeup disintegrating. “You stay out of this!”

 

I stood my ground and, in a serious tone, said, “Lady, I’m not the one throwing a scene and smashing mugs because some guy just wised up and dumped me over a latte.”

 

“Jenny, not the right thing to say,” my manager hissed. I’m the problem here now.

 

Jessica stormed out, her heels sounding like gunshots against the smooth floor. Dino stood there, staring at the mess. “I’ll pay for the broken mug and the damages,” he muttered, fishing out a crumpled bill and throwing it on the counter.

 

“Sure you will,” I said, snatching the bill and tossing it into the drawer. “Nice place you chose for a breakup. Next time, try the park.”

 

He gave me a sheepish look before strolling away, leaving me to clean the aftermath of his emotional crisis.

 

As I swept the pieces, I muttered, "Love people think it’s a circus. Breakups and emotional tantrums and someone always ends up sweeping the pieces and holding the broom.”

 

Just then, I caught my reflection in the window. My face twisted into a bitter, cynical smile. “Maybe I should charge extra for the drama. “Brew Oasis: Your latte comes with a slice of heartbreak”. Now, that would be writing that sells.

 

And it would add to my ammunition and build my case against love. Evidence A: Shattered Mug. Evidence B: My patience and my broom.