Revenge Cup

By Dale Angel

On a cold rainy morning in the city there opened a new fast food place with the smell of coffee permeating the frosty air. It invited you inside with clean tiled walls and shiny new windows. It looked like a good place to work, if I can get a job there.

Applications were submitted at an office across town. The long bus ride was uncomfortable because of the overwhelming smell of diesel. I was glad to get off and walk the next few blocks locating the address. It was up a flight of outside stairs that needed repair. Opening the door, at the end of the room I saw a large man behind a large desk that almost touched wall to wall.

Our conversation was brief. He informed me they didn’t hire old people.

Their labor would be only young high school kids, I was all of forty but could pass for thirty-nine some days…at early evening. It left me wounded, too emotional to ride back and let anyone see me crying. I walked miles in the rain with my hot tears mingling with cold rain.

I got a job cleaning an apartment overlooking the river. It was completely walled-in glass, with a large glass table, large glass lamps, large glass covered pictures, a glass coffee table, glass fronted furniture, huge mirrors, and a glass coffee pot. The lady of the house always left as soon as I arrived explaining she was out to her afternoon delight. She shared with me that she was a former prostitute and that her husband was a Fireplace tools manufacturer. One day as she pulled on her coat that looked just like Pat Nixon’s before they were asked to leave the White House, she again explained she was out to for her Afternoon Delight. I had in my mind a mocha soufflé or pineapple sundae. I asked what it was.

She looked over her mod glasses her white manufactured hair framing her face and explained it was her lover.

She had made it to the elevator when the earthquake hit.

I looked out the windows and saw the river hit the glass windows. Shards of glass whirled at me and I floated on the table as the lamps and glass cupboards shattered and the glass chandelier swung. It sounded like a bomb went off. I was wet. I thought it was blood. It was my thumb, frozen on the glass cleaner container spraying and as the building rolled and whirled. My legs became weak, but my mind returned.

I realized I didn’t get hazardous pay.

I revisited that fast food place gave out coffee cups with their logo on it, drumming up business the promise was…. always a cup of free coffee if you use their advertising cup. Thirty and more years have passed, but I don’t keep account of injuries or hold grudges. Recently, out of spite, I pulled mine out of the cupboard and asked for my free coffee. One local establishment refused. The one across town honors me with fresh coffee with real cream served by a gracious manager. It’s my revenge cup although small in comparison to the large man and large desk, and the cup is now bigger than both of us.

There’s something comforting in revenge.

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