Theycome in by the dozens, eyes gleaming, lips pulling out of the way to revealteeth. Their eyes search the case for that one, oh-so-special,nothing-compares-to-it, got-to-have-it-now treat that is in there, somewhere, ifonly their greedy eyes could find it.
Find it! Their mind beckons theireyes. Hurry! I need this 2 o'clock sugar fix before I return to the cube farm inwhich my everyday existence is meted out, day after agonizing day. I watch frombehind the counter, waiting for their order.
"That one, what's init?"
"Chocolate torte with an amaretto soak, raspberrymarmalade and rolled in toasted almon ...."
"Fine, fine, I'lltake it."
"To go, or for here?"
"Ummm..." The question sets them back. They glance down at their watch, and thentheir fingers drum the glass top with indecisiveness.
"To go. I haveto get back to work, so I'll take it to go."
"Okay then, I'llwrap it for you." I remove the tasty slice of heaven from its safe place inthe display case and place it neatly into a package. I ring it up as their eyesdance excitedly from the small baggie to the cash register, watching me punch inthe numbers.
"Three dollars and ninety-seven cents is yourtotal." They joyfully reach into their pockets, fumbling for the cash thatwill seal the deal.
"Here's five, keep the rest, you know, for atip." They toss the crumpled bill my way and pick up their delicacy, rushingout, glancing one last time at their watch. I watch through the big picturewindow as they pull the pastry from its bag, and take that first euphoric bite,the ecstasy spreading over their face as they chew. I smirk to myself, and leanover the counter, head resting in my palms, waiting for the next unhappytraveler. This is my job in its entirety.
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