Carmel San Diego
Today, submissions for my writer's group were due. This is something new I'm trying, to keep my on track with writing in my spare time. Although I wasn't working on anything new, I whipped up a short story using this month's NPR 3-minute fiction. It had to be 600 words or under, and include someone coming into town and someone leaving town. This is what I came up with:
Carmel San Diego
By Holly A. Phillips
At 3:30 am, most of San Diego is still sleeping—minus those gulping down the last of their cocktails, or the white coats at the hospital. Sam’s alarm was set for 3:30 am; she rolled out of bed without the snooze button.
The drive to work was always dark and quiet, until she rounded the corner and the airport was in sight, lit up like Rockefeller Center. She parked in her same spot, gathered her ID and apron, and completed security—the morning routine.
Sam’s coffee house was in Terminal 2, a temporary home for passengers flying American Airlines, often traveling to exotic places she could only dream of visiting. The closest she had come to traveling was tasting the foreign coffee from shipped bags.
Arriving at her station, she unlocked the backdoor, and flipped on the light. She had to move quickly, so she could open at 5 a.m. Coffee first. In the freezer, she gazed over the brewing choices. She liked to have one pot of something local, for those coming home, and something distant, for those leaving home. So today she picked a medium Tijuana bean and a dark from Cameroon, Africa.
She loaded up the tall pots, but didn’t start them. She wanted the coffee to be as fresh as possible. Next, it was time to load the pastries. It was Sam’s personal goal to provide travelers with the best continental breakfast she could.
From the fridge, she unloaded the baked goods she’d prepared the night before; trays of cranberry scones, poppy seed muffins, chocolate-filled croissants, and orange cinnamon rolls. She unwrapped each one carefully, placing them on decorative trays for the display case.
She stocked the front with milk for the steamer, flavored syrups for the coffee concoctions, and fresh whipped cream to top it all off. Finally, it was time to open.
The customers came right away, as usual. Sam wanted to be friendly, but never wanted to bother those simply moving along. A droopy-eyed customer never wanted to chat, nor did those wearing a headset. But most didn’t mind a friendly “Good morning.”
“Here’s your soy latte, sir,” Sam said, handing the drink over. “Enjoy.”
He nodded, and was on his way out. He was dressed for cold weather, leaving Sam to assume he was headed east.
The next woman in line was frazzled, setting down her boarding pass and purse on the counter as she dug for her wallet.
“Large caramel macchiato,” she said. Sam looked at the boarding pass.
“You’re going to Paris?” she asked.
“Me? Oh yes. Business,” she said, slapping a credit card on the counter.
“Oh, wow,” Sam said. “I have always dreamed of going there, sipping a cappuccino at a café…”
Sam moved over to pull the espresso shots for the macchiato.
“You sound like a romantic.”
“I guess. Isn’t that what it’s like?” Sam asked.
“Well, I honestly never have time for that stuff, with work.”
Sam handed the woman her drink, wished her safe travels, and looked to the next customer.
“One of your scones, please,” he said.
“How was your trip?” she asked, remembering the young man from days prior.
“New York is fun, but man, it’s good to be home,” he said.
“I know what you mean,” she said.
As much as she wished to be on the other side of the counter, traveling to far off places, Sam was content knowing she could at least appreciate a fine cappuccino, even in San Diego.
Posted by wittywriter7
at 8:34 AM CDT