Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Pevie
Now Evie, what looks better, coral red or rain forest green? What is rainforest green? But then again, what's coral red? I smell French fries. Why do I smell French fries in a paint store? Why am I asking myself so many questions?
"Shut up," I mumbled to myself and shook my head before reaching for the can of Coral Red. Sure, I had remembered to bring painting supplies, but who brings paint when they move across country? Not me. Let's get up to speed. In the last week I had managed to find a job at the oh-so cliché down-the-block coffee shop, make a dent in one of the walls of my new apartment, and find the pure joy in bubble wrap and Styrofoam peanuts again. Today was paint day, and tonight was the night shift, which I welcomed as a great chance to meet potential friends. Chicago coffee shops at night aren't necessarily busy due to the busy streets filled with college students out on their summer break, spending more time in bars or music venues that litter the shops that surround me. When’s the last time anybody has bought coffee after 7pm?
From the coffee shop you could literally hear and sometimes feel the crowd from the club up the street, with a different event occurring almost every night. As far as I was concerned, choosing to live in the heart of the city of Chicago was turning out to be extraordinary.
*
I wasn’t too bummed that my first Friday would be spent pouring cappuccinos and preparing espressos with extra shots of whipped cream. So far, the business was moderate, and being that it was closing in on the opening of the club up the block, I was getting myself ready for the boring half of my shift. As I took a seat at a barstool I had pulled behind the counter, I began to contemplate exactly what I had left behind in Arizona. Material wise, I had left my phone charger, something I seemed to always forget. Figuratively, I left a dead family, an empty house and an arrogant ass of a teenaged boy.
“Derek,” I spat aloud, not really minding if I sounded like loon to my boss who stood at his office door, slowly stirring his coffee in a trance.
“Who’s Derek?”
My boss’ mouth had not moved, and I panicked momentarily before realizing the coffee shop was still opened and no doubt, a customer had heard me speak. Whipping my body around, I found a guy blinking at the cash register. I raised an eyebrow and watched as the sly toothy smile faltered. I assumed it was because I had yet to respond. Slowly standing up, I crossed to stand behind the register opposite of the man who had so rudely attempted to get into my business.
"Nobody important," I spoke, finally. He raised an eyebrow and I copied, amused by his expression.
"I'm curious," he spoke and leaned against the bar, arms casually crossed across the granite.
"Listen buddy," I started. “Are you going to order something or not?”
The guy shook his head slightly and slowly, the white grin reappeared on his face. He moved his arm so it was somewhat behind the bar and penetrating my personal bubble, hand in shaking mode.
"I'm Pete,"
"I'm out of bounds," I responded and leaned on one leg, annoyed. "What do you want?" I was becoming short, irritated by a man who was too short, slender and out of place to be in a coffee shop at seven p.m.
"Out of bounds," This Pete person had just become the most interesting person in Chicago. His hand was now digging through his pocket to pull out a few dollar bills. “How much?” he asked.
I creased my eyebrows together and placed both arms on either side or the register before leaning forward a bit.
"More than you can afford,” I simply said.
"How do you keep your figure?" Pete asked next, his eyes lowering to obviously check out my legs.
"I beat the living shit out of boys like you," I tapped my fingers against the side of the cash box and watched as a small laugh escaped his lips.
"So that's probably what happened to Derek," his smile stayed and I couldn’t help but let my own lips form one too. Quickly though, I noticed how naïve I was acting and shook my head, tilting my head to one side with a somewhat serious face.
"What do you want?" I asked. Pete looked up at the menu and fingered his pockets a second time, pulling out more crumpled currency.
"Cinnamon roll and a water bottle,"
Finally having the opportunity to turn around, I pulled a face to myself and bagged the last roll before moving to grab a water bottle from the mini-fridge. Turning back around, I found Pete still standing with I considered was his trademark grin, a hand full of cash simply waiting.
"How old are you?" he asked. I widened my eyes and placed his items on the counter in front of him before pressing a few buttons on the register.
"Four dollars and fifty cents," I said, smiling brightly. Pete frowned for an instant and didn’t even attempt to gather the right amount of cash.
"How old?" he insisted.
"Four dollars and fifty cents,” I spoke again and found him giving in, looking down at his hand before handing me a five. I smiled, victorious. But as the bill met my palm, he pulled it back and threw yet another smirk at me.
“Just tell me.” Pete inched the cash closer and in a quick grab I snatched it, getting the appropriate change and even though he had his hand in change-accepting form, I placed the two quarters on the counter with a loud cling.
"Fifty cents," I replied sarcastically and found a sheepish smile instead of a conceited one. Pete scooped the change into his palm before giving me one last glance and stepping backward.
"Nice to meet you, Evie,”
I stupidly let my mouth open in astonishment and glanced down at my chest to see my name tag. In a game of wit and flirtation, he had won, and I had lost. Almost instantly, my victorious ego dissolved and I watched intently as Pete laughed shortly and left the shop, the bell above the door ringing and scaring me with this memory. I sat back down and glared at the door, disappointed in my awareness of my nametag. I pouted for a moment before realizing I had just interacted with somebody outside of my landlord and boss. Sighing, I decided to forget about it and focus on my work. After all, Pete was defiantly not my type.
My attention was shifted yet again as my boss moved from his doorway position and walked over eyeing the empty shop.
“I’m hired some more help,” he mumbled, taking a long sip and eying my reaction from over the rip. I shrugged, but wondered why we would need help for the weekends, especially since business was always slow then.
“Ok, when?” I asked.
“He should be here soon…” His voice was tired and I knew that if there was one employee that truly hated his job here, it was him.
I watched him walk away and take the same position he was in a few moments ago; firmly leaning against the doorway of his office, slowly sipping an endless mug of luke-warm coffee. It was too eerie for my liking, and I moved to clean tables instead of letting him stare at me. While I was doing this however, the door jingled, and for a split second I thought it was going to be that Pete guy again. Instead, a rather scrawny teenaged boy stood at the door with his hand on his head, which was more of a poodle than it was hair. He laughed suddenly and I paused from cleaning a table to observe him move his arm which I noticed was clutching an apron identical to mine. His eyes landed on me and he smiled.
“This is it?” he asked.
I hesitated to respond, dumbly thinking that every guy that would come in here would end up hitting on me and asking me how much I was and my age. I shrugged, and turned to walk back to the bar. The boy followed me, simultaneously placing the tacky fabric around his neck and tying the string around his back.
“Uh…” he started, tapping his fingers on the countertop nervously before looking at me like a lost puppy. “Are you going to talk to me, or what?” he asked.
I laughed for a moment before placing the cleaning supplies down and turning towards him.
“Sorry, it’s just there isn’t much to do around here on Friday nights,” I explained before extending my arm, gesturing a greeting. “I’m Evie… and if you forget,” I let a small smirk escape me before I continued. “It’s on my nametag,”
The kid laughed before taking my hand and moving it up and down for a moment.
“I’m Joe, and if you forget…” he paused, struggling to come up with a reason to remember it. I raised an eyebrow.
“Your name is Joe, like coffee. I won’t forget.”
He nodded and moved his hand to scratch the back of his head and I opted to sit at a barstool and organize the sugar packets back into the small container. Joe took my lead and sat next to me, taking a different container and decided to do the same.
“So why did you decide to get a job here?” I asked, not wanting to sit in silence. Joe shook his head, taking a sugar packet and ripping it open, pouring some of the powder into his palm. I watched.
“It is only because I couldn’t get a job at the club up the block,” he answered, looking up only momentarily.
“Why couldn’t you?” I wondered aloud.
“I don’t know how old I look to you, but I’m only sixteen,” Joe joked before pouring more sugar into his hand.
I was astounded by his eagerness to tell me this sort of information. However, I was more focused on the white powder in the palm of his hand.
“Ok then. Why did you want to work there?” I asked next.
Joe shrugged and placed the empty sugar packet on the counter. I watched intently as he poked it with his pinky.
“A band I really dig plays there every Friday,” he answered, suddenly slapping his hand to his mouth, shoving the sugar from his palm into his mouth. I widened my eyes, disturbed, for a split second before laughing at his action. Joe smiled and leaned to his left, dusting his hands off on his pants. I suddenly realized what he had mentioned.
“Wait… you go to those shows up the street?”
“Hell yes,” Joe rolled his eyes. “I’m practically best friends with one of the members of the band!” he somewhat yelled, excitedly.
“Sorry that you are stuck here,” I mumbled, watching as yet another group of people hurried down the sidewalk.
“We don’t have to be,” Joe mentioned slyly. I whipped my head to him and he laughed, yanking off his apron and slinging it over the barstool. He stood and jerked his head towards the door. My eyes widened again and I shook my head.
“I am not ditching work to hang out at a show with somebody I just met,” I explained.
Joe skewed his mouth to one side before yanking me up by the wrist and dragging me across the shop. Before we were out the door, I sighed and tore my apron off, throwing it as best as I could towards the bar. The door jingled open and after a quick glance at each other, we ran.
"Shut up," I mumbled to myself and shook my head before reaching for the can of Coral Red. Sure, I had remembered to bring painting supplies, but who brings paint when they move across country? Not me. Let's get up to speed. In the last week I had managed to find a job at the oh-so cliché down-the-block coffee shop, make a dent in one of the walls of my new apartment, and find the pure joy in bubble wrap and Styrofoam peanuts again. Today was paint day, and tonight was the night shift, which I welcomed as a great chance to meet potential friends. Chicago coffee shops at night aren't necessarily busy due to the busy streets filled with college students out on their summer break, spending more time in bars or music venues that litter the shops that surround me. When’s the last time anybody has bought coffee after 7pm?
From the coffee shop you could literally hear and sometimes feel the crowd from the club up the street, with a different event occurring almost every night. As far as I was concerned, choosing to live in the heart of the city of Chicago was turning out to be extraordinary.
*
I wasn’t too bummed that my first Friday would be spent pouring cappuccinos and preparing espressos with extra shots of whipped cream. So far, the business was moderate, and being that it was closing in on the opening of the club up the block, I was getting myself ready for the boring half of my shift. As I took a seat at a barstool I had pulled behind the counter, I began to contemplate exactly what I had left behind in Arizona. Material wise, I had left my phone charger, something I seemed to always forget. Figuratively, I left a dead family, an empty house and an arrogant ass of a teenaged boy.
“Derek,” I spat aloud, not really minding if I sounded like loon to my boss who stood at his office door, slowly stirring his coffee in a trance.
“Who’s Derek?”
My boss’ mouth had not moved, and I panicked momentarily before realizing the coffee shop was still opened and no doubt, a customer had heard me speak. Whipping my body around, I found a guy blinking at the cash register. I raised an eyebrow and watched as the sly toothy smile faltered. I assumed it was because I had yet to respond. Slowly standing up, I crossed to stand behind the register opposite of the man who had so rudely attempted to get into my business.
"Nobody important," I spoke, finally. He raised an eyebrow and I copied, amused by his expression.
"I'm curious," he spoke and leaned against the bar, arms casually crossed across the granite.
"Listen buddy," I started. “Are you going to order something or not?”
The guy shook his head slightly and slowly, the white grin reappeared on his face. He moved his arm so it was somewhat behind the bar and penetrating my personal bubble, hand in shaking mode.
"I'm Pete,"
"I'm out of bounds," I responded and leaned on one leg, annoyed. "What do you want?" I was becoming short, irritated by a man who was too short, slender and out of place to be in a coffee shop at seven p.m.
"Out of bounds," This Pete person had just become the most interesting person in Chicago. His hand was now digging through his pocket to pull out a few dollar bills. “How much?” he asked.
I creased my eyebrows together and placed both arms on either side or the register before leaning forward a bit.
"More than you can afford,” I simply said.
"How do you keep your figure?" Pete asked next, his eyes lowering to obviously check out my legs.
"I beat the living shit out of boys like you," I tapped my fingers against the side of the cash box and watched as a small laugh escaped his lips.
"So that's probably what happened to Derek," his smile stayed and I couldn’t help but let my own lips form one too. Quickly though, I noticed how naïve I was acting and shook my head, tilting my head to one side with a somewhat serious face.
"What do you want?" I asked. Pete looked up at the menu and fingered his pockets a second time, pulling out more crumpled currency.
"Cinnamon roll and a water bottle,"
Finally having the opportunity to turn around, I pulled a face to myself and bagged the last roll before moving to grab a water bottle from the mini-fridge. Turning back around, I found Pete still standing with I considered was his trademark grin, a hand full of cash simply waiting.
"How old are you?" he asked. I widened my eyes and placed his items on the counter in front of him before pressing a few buttons on the register.
"Four dollars and fifty cents," I said, smiling brightly. Pete frowned for an instant and didn’t even attempt to gather the right amount of cash.
"How old?" he insisted.
"Four dollars and fifty cents,” I spoke again and found him giving in, looking down at his hand before handing me a five. I smiled, victorious. But as the bill met my palm, he pulled it back and threw yet another smirk at me.
“Just tell me.” Pete inched the cash closer and in a quick grab I snatched it, getting the appropriate change and even though he had his hand in change-accepting form, I placed the two quarters on the counter with a loud cling.
"Fifty cents," I replied sarcastically and found a sheepish smile instead of a conceited one. Pete scooped the change into his palm before giving me one last glance and stepping backward.
"Nice to meet you, Evie,”
I stupidly let my mouth open in astonishment and glanced down at my chest to see my name tag. In a game of wit and flirtation, he had won, and I had lost. Almost instantly, my victorious ego dissolved and I watched intently as Pete laughed shortly and left the shop, the bell above the door ringing and scaring me with this memory. I sat back down and glared at the door, disappointed in my awareness of my nametag. I pouted for a moment before realizing I had just interacted with somebody outside of my landlord and boss. Sighing, I decided to forget about it and focus on my work. After all, Pete was defiantly not my type.
My attention was shifted yet again as my boss moved from his doorway position and walked over eyeing the empty shop.
“I’m hired some more help,” he mumbled, taking a long sip and eying my reaction from over the rip. I shrugged, but wondered why we would need help for the weekends, especially since business was always slow then.
“Ok, when?” I asked.
“He should be here soon…” His voice was tired and I knew that if there was one employee that truly hated his job here, it was him.
I watched him walk away and take the same position he was in a few moments ago; firmly leaning against the doorway of his office, slowly sipping an endless mug of luke-warm coffee. It was too eerie for my liking, and I moved to clean tables instead of letting him stare at me. While I was doing this however, the door jingled, and for a split second I thought it was going to be that Pete guy again. Instead, a rather scrawny teenaged boy stood at the door with his hand on his head, which was more of a poodle than it was hair. He laughed suddenly and I paused from cleaning a table to observe him move his arm which I noticed was clutching an apron identical to mine. His eyes landed on me and he smiled.
“This is it?” he asked.
I hesitated to respond, dumbly thinking that every guy that would come in here would end up hitting on me and asking me how much I was and my age. I shrugged, and turned to walk back to the bar. The boy followed me, simultaneously placing the tacky fabric around his neck and tying the string around his back.
“Uh…” he started, tapping his fingers on the countertop nervously before looking at me like a lost puppy. “Are you going to talk to me, or what?” he asked.
I laughed for a moment before placing the cleaning supplies down and turning towards him.
“Sorry, it’s just there isn’t much to do around here on Friday nights,” I explained before extending my arm, gesturing a greeting. “I’m Evie… and if you forget,” I let a small smirk escape me before I continued. “It’s on my nametag,”
The kid laughed before taking my hand and moving it up and down for a moment.
“I’m Joe, and if you forget…” he paused, struggling to come up with a reason to remember it. I raised an eyebrow.
“Your name is Joe, like coffee. I won’t forget.”
He nodded and moved his hand to scratch the back of his head and I opted to sit at a barstool and organize the sugar packets back into the small container. Joe took my lead and sat next to me, taking a different container and decided to do the same.
“So why did you decide to get a job here?” I asked, not wanting to sit in silence. Joe shook his head, taking a sugar packet and ripping it open, pouring some of the powder into his palm. I watched.
“It is only because I couldn’t get a job at the club up the block,” he answered, looking up only momentarily.
“Why couldn’t you?” I wondered aloud.
“I don’t know how old I look to you, but I’m only sixteen,” Joe joked before pouring more sugar into his hand.
I was astounded by his eagerness to tell me this sort of information. However, I was more focused on the white powder in the palm of his hand.
“Ok then. Why did you want to work there?” I asked next.
Joe shrugged and placed the empty sugar packet on the counter. I watched intently as he poked it with his pinky.
“A band I really dig plays there every Friday,” he answered, suddenly slapping his hand to his mouth, shoving the sugar from his palm into his mouth. I widened my eyes, disturbed, for a split second before laughing at his action. Joe smiled and leaned to his left, dusting his hands off on his pants. I suddenly realized what he had mentioned.
“Wait… you go to those shows up the street?”
“Hell yes,” Joe rolled his eyes. “I’m practically best friends with one of the members of the band!” he somewhat yelled, excitedly.
“Sorry that you are stuck here,” I mumbled, watching as yet another group of people hurried down the sidewalk.
“We don’t have to be,” Joe mentioned slyly. I whipped my head to him and he laughed, yanking off his apron and slinging it over the barstool. He stood and jerked his head towards the door. My eyes widened again and I shook my head.
“I am not ditching work to hang out at a show with somebody I just met,” I explained.
Joe skewed his mouth to one side before yanking me up by the wrist and dragging me across the shop. Before we were out the door, I sighed and tore my apron off, throwing it as best as I could towards the bar. The door jingled open and after a quick glance at each other, we ran.
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