I could smell it. Its perverse odor invaded my nostrils as I sat on the overstuffed, taupe chair that reminded me of over-creamed coffee.
“Bastards,” I mumbled. The fabric color on the chair was no accident. Of this, I was sure. I pretended to ignore the odor. My brow beaded with sweat as I ogled the gurgling contraption on the counter in the corner. I eyeballed the powdered creamer and the foam cups. Maybe it would not hurt if I had one cup.
“No,” I said aloud.
A woman with too much eye make-up on snapped her head up to glare at me. “Excuse me?” she asked in an annoyed tone as she shifted in her dark brown chair.
Go to hell, bitch. And take your laughable eye shadow with you, I thought.
“Sorry, I was talking to myself,” I answered.
“Oh,” she cracked her gum. “Why are you here?” She kept staring at me.
“Not much of a talker, huh? I get it. I never was either, but Dr. Pantomime said I need to be more expressive,” she said and motioned to her face.
“I don’t think that’s what he meant, but okay,” I flubbed as the coffee became pungent. Why would they put fucking coffee in here? Did they not know why I was here? Did they not get the fucking memo?
“Excuse me, miss?” I said to the receptionist behind the desk. She looked up and slid the glass back.
“Is there caffeine in that coffee?” I asked.
“I don’t know, sir. You’ll have to figure it out for yourself.”
The powered creamer fell silently into the six-ounce abyss of coffee that swirled in the foam cup. I had a fifty-fifty shot. If it was decaf, I was okay. If not, the clown woman and glass woman would have a free ticket to hell.
“Ready?” I shouted. The man who just entered the waiting room looked confused. I chugged the coffee as it caressed my throat, burning on the way down. My head raced. My heart palpitated.
I smiled as the beads of sweat dripped into my eyes. “You’re all screwed.”