Frustration’s At The Bathhouse

“Moving away from home was supposed to be...*

I let the mop fall into the kid's vomit with a loud slap. I grimaced at the rotten smell.

*...Therapeutic.*

Right now, dealing with my homophobic parents would be preferable. It was busy on a Friday night, for some reason. I don't know why people decided they needed coffee at nearly 8pm, but three separate families came in, and we only had four baristas working. We were hoping they'd go away when they realized we weren't a Starbucks, and we don't sell fraps, but they actually decided to look at the menu and grab some of the artisanal lemonades and sodas. Then one of the little boys threw up on the floor.

Jas, my supervisor, was frazzled, but trying not to let the stress get to him. He's too perfect for that anyways. He barely fits behind the bar, really. Jas' real name is Jaspreet, he's Sikh. His hair is short, so he's not practicing, but he does wear an iron bracelet. That bracelet...it's just about the only thing he wears that actually f