Dark Mocha

A ding goes off in the earpiece that is wrapped around Marcus's head, signaling the approach of a vehicle in the drive-thru lane. Marcus takes a deep inhale, then an even longer exhale.

"Good morning, welcome to King Coffee Shop, what can I get started for you today?" The words come to Marcus so easily, the repetition makes him smile.

"Yes, uh, I'll have a large blonde coffee with ten Splenda and light heavy cream."

"Did you want a little bit of extra cream or just a little bit of heavy cream?"

"Just a little bit of heavy cream, thanks for asking, nobody has asked me that."

"Alright, that'll be $2.50, I'll see you at the window." Marcus presses the button on his headset that disconnects him from the rest of the world, unable to be heard, unable to be interfered with. Marcus grabs ten packets of Splenda and pours them into a light white paper cup, fills it up with the tarry blackness of coffee, and pours heavy cream to coalesce inside the cup, creating a milky substance inside. Marcus has done this act for a long time, he never thought he would like this job, but he has grown to enjoy the unification of milk and espresso. Speaking with customers, regular and new, has become a pastime as close knit to him as baseball is to America. The regulars' daily routine and family became his, he greeted them with familiarity, and their loved ones became members of the same love he would give to his own family. Marcus finishes the order, and hands the drink to the customer.

"You have a good one."

"You too."

As Marcus closes the drive-thru window, Nathan approaches from the backroom with a soil-tinted apron, dangling from his coconut milk colored hands, looking at Marcus, he begins to tie the apron across his back and folds the buckle of the apron around his neck. Nathan is finally off his break and head nods for Marcus to take his. Marcus begins to untie his apron, and lift the buckle from his neck, rubbing the rope burn from the weight of the apron buckle until folding it up and placing it on a nearby counter. Marcus passes Amy, their manager, on his way to the backroom. Amy is beautiful. Beautiful in the sense that if she applied a specific amount of makeup to smooth out the edges of her round face, and fixed her hair in a particular way allowing her amber locks to fold over her face slightly and extend until only the tips could touch her shoulders, intentionally revealing her off-white skin, then in her grace and beauty she would be unrivaled by anything on this planet.

"Enjoy your break."

"Thanks."

Marcus goes to the back room where his ten-minute break is filled with hip-hop, random memes, a hot mocha latte, and the occasional flipping through Facebook to see the latest gripes from everybody that considers themselves his friend. Ten minutes pass and Marcus steps back onto the work floor, littered with plastic wrappers and the dark coffee grounds from discarded brews. A lack of people in front of the cash register indicates that the store had been quite slow since he came back from his break. A gesture from Amy assures that he is to hop on the register, he graciously, and without hesitation, assumes the role of cashier.

"Good morning Mr. Garvey." Marcus makes a welcoming gesture towards Mr. Garvey, and begins to pour his coffee, the same coffee that he had prepared for a couple years now. Marcus enjoys the repetition. He derives great comfort in knowing the customer's order, sometimes hoping that they don't even have to speak, because he knows some of his customers are in a hurry. He plays a little game trying to put the order in the system before the customer even speaks.

Another customer approaches as Mr. Garvey says bye and exits the coffee shop.

"I want, like, a large White Mocha Latte with extra whipped cream, like, I want a lot a lot. I got it at some other store and, like, they barely gave me extra, so I made them put more on it." The valley girl tone bothers Marcus for some reason. He can't put his finger on it. She just sounds so...... snooty, privileged... maybe, a rich father perhaps.

"Ooooo that's my favorite drink here." Nathan chimes in. The customer and Nathan begin sharing their mutual love for the White Mocha Sauce, then their attention shifts to Marcus.

"Do you like White Mocha, Marcus?" The two of them both hanging on a thread of anticipation, waiting for an answer.

"It's ok, I guess." Marcus makes a shrug that confirms his lack of comfort with the question. "My favorite is the dark mocha. It has a chalky taste that I find enjoyable." Marcus begins rubbing his neck.

"What!? You're crazy, White Mocha is the best." Nathan adds while pouring the steaming milk into the cup, snuffing out the little bit of espresso on the bottom. The creamy milk, and the extra ton of whipped cream compounding on top of the espresso, as if it truly belonged there. The customer agrees vehemently, suggesting that Marcus should try it again, give it another chance. Nathan finishes making her drink and slides the cup across the counter, she remains in the immediate vicinity, eager to expand on the solidarity that she and Nathan have acquired. "Look, I'll make you one, and I'm certain you'll love it." Nathan is resilient in the case of White Mocha supremacy. "You'll see that White Mocha is better than plain mocha."

"I mean, it's personal preference. You can say that you like the White Mocha best, it doesn't really matter to me, I haven't tried it in a while so I almost forgot what it tastes like." Marcus begins feeling defensive in his stance on the situation, and how trivial it seems.

"No way dude, everyone loves White Mocha, they just don't know they love it." Nathan adopts a smirk, a smirk that Marcus has never recognized Nathan to make in the three years they have been working together, a smirk that makes Marcus wince.

"Good morning sir, what can I get for ya?" As each customer approaches Marcus, he greets them the same way he has for years, with a smile. Nathan finishes the latte and places it, for Marcus, on the counter behind him and motions for him to drink it very soon. "That'll be up soon, ok."

Marcus taps the counter and swings his arms in a motion directing the customer to where their drink will be placed. He grabs the cup that Nathan set on the counter and begins to take a sip. He did genuinely forget what the White Mocha tastes like, and the sip of this latte brings up a perplexing array of emotions that Marcus is not ready to confront. He remembers that he did not like White Mocha at all before, the smell even bothered him. Now everything has changed. Marcus loves White Mocha. The creamy texture of the milk that lay upon a bed of espresso topped with a mountain of whipped cream was a mouthful of flavor he could have never expected.

"Figured you would want it stronger so I added an extra shot. I didn't want to add too much, that would ruin the drink, ya know." Nathan gives a wink at the customer who has refused to move and demands to see the result of his creation.

"It's actually not as bad as I thought, I still like the mocha more, but it's decent."

"Ahh I see we're getting somewhere." Both Nathan and the customer that ends up identifying herself as Libby, ooze glee at the thought of Marcus actually enjoying White Mocha.

"I don't know, I'm a hipster at heart, I enjoy the original mocha the way it was intended." Marcus attempts to feel as confident as possible, the fact he likes White Mocha and he feels he has to hide it, demoralizes him.

"But turning it white only makes it taste better." Marcus is slowly unraveling. He wants to agree, but that would only worsen the pain in his gut.

"But how can you say that White Mocha is better, people have different taste buds and shit." Marcus starts to rub his neck again. The buckle of the apron is weighing down on him.

"Hey good, uh, morning, what can I get you for today? I mean, what can I get for you today?" What was once second nature to him, is becoming increasingly difficult as the minutes pass. Marcus cannot stop thinking about the two mochas, he has loved dark mocha for as long as he's been a coffee guy, there was no reason to doubt it now. He can't get the taste of White Mocha erased from his tongue, no matter how hard he resists.

"Dude relax, just because you like a pretty shitty drink doesn't mean I like you less. I mean, I might though." Nathan's cheeky smirk reappearing with unrelenting vigor. His words affected Marcus, and he knew it. "I just don't see why we still sell the plain mocha, it's kinda garbage to be honest."

"Shut the f-"

"Alright you two guys, da hell is going on?" Amy interjects at, what she considers to be, a pivotal point in the conversation, Marcus is getting louder.

"Marcus is hella butthurt that he likes a shitty drink. You like White Mocha, right Amy?" Nathan gives a little shoulder push towards Amy, hoping she would agree.

"It's pretty good."

Marcus gives a sigh of relief that Amy, somehow, reflects his opinion.

"From a sales standpoint, White Mocha does account for a larger percentage of our profit than dark mocha does." Marcus's sigh of relief becomes quickly consumed by the overarching fear that he was alone in this debate. He starts again rubbing his neck, he doesn't like the feeling of the apron buckle on his skin, but it's dress code, and Amy was very strict on dress code.

"You guys serious!?" Marcus blurts out in a haphazard fashion, practically howling now. Marcus had the entire universe figured out before this day, now he can barely recognize the planet that his feet were planted on.

"Well, White Mocha is more expensive, I think by like, a dollar, or something like that." As Amy says the words, a look of disbelief encompasses Marcus's face. Why did he not know that? When was this known? Why is it more expensive?

"Nobody really buys dark mocha though, we usually have a huge surplus in the back, to the point where we have to start dumping them out." Amy notices, as she is speaking, a harrowed look in Marcus's eyes, a look she has never seen him make before.

In Marcus's periphery, stares the empty wasteland of dark mocha containers, a sea of black discarded as simple trash that is told to clean itself up. It never stood a chance, not here, not with the price difference and the lack of advertising. The decaying ruins of a hopeless future dictated by price comparisons and quarterly expenses. What use was dark mocha sauce when the next drink was always lighter and brighter and filled with more whipped cream. The rough texture and the dark appearance made some skeptical at first glance, a bad enough first impression that most never even wanted to try it. The ground began to quake and the earth began to spin. A torrential wave of resentment and pity wash over his thoughts and feelings, until they are no more a part of him as his flesh that is eternally stained with dark mocha sauce.

"Hey Marcus, it's past 9 a.m., you need to go." Amy's words relieved him only in a temporary sense, the battle now, was mental. Peacefulness has eluded him as a cat he has once held in his hands. A tangible weight mounting that would bury him in gravel and mud, indistinguishable amidst the garbage and dirt.

"Uh, Ok Amy, I'll, um, see you tomorrow then?" Marcus has never felt these feelings before, his convictions were solid and assured. Now, broken and drained, he clocks out, removing himself from the records of the day, as Amy takes over on the register.

"What are you getting?" Marcus drones about, barely making out what Amy has just asked him.

"I'll take a medium mocha latte with no whipped cream." Marcus could see Nathan's reaction out the corner of his eye, he revels in this moment. The drink is made, and the smirk on Nathan's face has never been bigger.

"Enjoy."

"Thanks."

As Marcus takes a sip of his latte a terrible realization strikes him and a tear falls down his face. His neck no longer burns. He tosses his unfinished drink in the trash and walks out the door.