Someone Likes Coffee Even More Than You
Maritza Mrak-Blumberg was ready. Button check: all buttoned. Zipper up: good. Keys check wallet check phone check phone ring level (medium loud) check keys check. To be completed: unchain then undeadbolt (she smirks at the zombie joke at this part of the process), walk through door then lock it, put hands in pockets (she sews pockets into all of her dresses just for this step) look both ways and head right, around the corner, into coffee shop, ask for a 12oz sugar-free hazelnut soy latte (remember to smile), pay $3.87 and put $0.13 in the tip jar, then you can drink the coffee.
Maritza Mrak-Blumberg walked to the spot in her kitchen/living room area that was almost right in front of the door and went through the pre-leaving the house process. Everything was good so far. She had on a pair of shiny white Mary Janes with white and pink argyle socks and a red sundress with pockets. OK, she thought, which was a stupid thing to think because now she would have to say it.
“OK,” said Maritza Mrak-Blumberg. She still couldn’t move towards the door, which was annoying. She bit her lip and rolled her eyes because she was grumpy at herself for saying ‘OK’ the first time, which made her have to say it again. She waited for a few seconds, resisting it because she was trying to Improve Herself. But she didn’t wait too long because she really wanted a 12oz sugar-free hazelnut soy latte. Maritza Mrak-Blumberg was one of those people who like to drink coffee at night, which it currently was.
“OK,” she said, and walked through the door.
“Excuse me,” said the mugger. She kept walking forward with her hands in her pockets; the next stop was coffee.
“Excuse me,’ the mugger said again, and started following her. “Hey. Hey!” The mugger had jogged past her and turned around to block her way. He was holding a long kitchen knife. She stopped and froze, which is her version of panicking.
“Yo, gimme your wallet.” Maritza Mrak-Blumberg continued to stare.
“Yo, I said gimme—“
“OK! I’m getting my wallet, OK?”
Shit.
Her hand closed over the wallet in her dress pocket. The mugger held his hand out and started looking across the street. He sniffed.
“I need you to say, ‘OK.’”
“What? Gimme the wallet, bitch, hurry up.” The mugger kept looking around and sniffing. He started hopping up and down in little tiny hops. Maritza Mrak-Blumberg bit her lip and rolled her eyes.
“…I need you to say, ‘OK.’ OK?”
“Yo you fucking with me?” The mugger’s eyes bugged out as he hopped from foot to foot.
“I need you to say—“ The mugger stabbed her right in the chest. He kind of checked his swing in the middle of the stab, because the stab was just one of those crack reactions he hadn’t really planned out, so the kitchen knife didn’t go in all the way. But it definitely went in, maybe an inch and a half or even two inches. He let go of it really fast.
“Oh, shit!” he said, and ran across the street.
Maritza Mrak-Blumberg looked down at the knife sticking out of her chest, right there between her boobs. It really hurt, but she didn’t seem to be dying right away, oddly enough. She didn’t dare take her hands out of her pockets. One hand gripped her wallet and the other hand gripped her phone. She needed to pull out the phone to call 9-1-1, but her wallet needed to come out of the other pocket first. For that to happen, she had to be buying a 12oz sugar-free soy latte, which was the next thing on the list. But she really needed to call 9-1-1. She looked around. There didn’t seem to be anyone on the street. She could see people moving inside the windows of the coffee shop a block away. She was wasting precious time, she thought, although there didn’t seem to be real gushes of blood coming out of her chest, probably because the knife was still in it. She looked back up towards the coffee shop.
“O—“
But she thought fast. Maritza Mrak-Blumberg wasn’t dying this day. She took a resolute yet careful step forward, maintaining even better posture than usual and walking a Euclidean line towards the door. Some jingle bells jingled on the door when she opened it. Everyone gawked. The barista, a zaftig young thing with curly red hair and a black coffee apron smiled, before gawking. Maritza Mrak-Blumberg pulled her wallet slowly out of her dress pocket, either unable or not really caring enough to force herself not to try to smile naturally.
“One 12oz sugar-free soy latte, please,” she said, holding up four one-dollar bills.
by Gtron
