Almost Famous

Blake, a young girl stuck in the awkward age between teenager and adult, was taking out the garbage. It was Thursday, and before her father asked her to do it she took it upon herself to beat him to the punch. She wasn’t a selfless girl, quite the opposite. She rather enjoyed being able to say, “I already did it” when her mother or father asked her to do something. They probably knew, but why would they care? The tedious tasks they hated doing weren’t a problem anymore.

Blake was wearing her barista apron while rolling the bins to the curb. Her named was stitched in perfect times new roman font. She loved her apron because she loved herself and now no one would forget her name. Expect for the times when people asked if her name was really Blake. Some people just can’t come around to the idea of a girl having a guy’s name. Idiots, she thought.

While she was busy dragging the recycling bin to the street, a beat up Volvo pulled up beside her. Blake now wished that her name wasn’t etched into her apron, and that she wasn’t standing in front of her house.

A man in his mid forties rolled down his window. Blake was surprised to see that she knew this man. She felt a little more at ease, but only just a little.

“I thought it was you,” said the man in the tight leather jacket.

“Customers aren’t supposed to follow the employees home from work ya know. It’s sort of illegal,” she replied.

“I just wanted to say hi. I live around here.”

“Isn’t that what they all say?”

“You’re much nicer behind the counter.”

“I feel safer that way. Barriers are an excellent way to keep people in good spirits.”

The man laughed and put on a pair of ray bans even though it was overcast. It was always overcast in Seattle. He rolled up his window and drove away. Blake never saw him at her store again, but she did see him driving by sometimes. When she did, she saw a new bumper sticker on his car that read, “Barriers are an excellent way to keep people in good spirits.” Soon she saw a lot of cars driving around with her words glued to cars, even the expensive kind.

She thought she deserved some sort of compensation. Then again, maybe he was a serial killer that spared her because her wit made him some money. If that was the case she argued that her life was more valuable. Or maybe she was letting her imagination run away with her again, and he really did just happen to live near by.

In the end she didn’t really care. She was almost famous.

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