Please write something about coffee shop raided by robber and the robber get arrested by the police, then the police gets donuts as the bonus. That would be amazing story... -- Anon Guest
Picture if you will, the friendliest colour of purple that water can be. It is water that is three-quarters up a large mason jar by the till of a little shop on the corner. The jar has the word TIPS written on it in large, friendly letters. There is a far smaller thank you for your generosity underneath.
The air around the jar is full of chatter, steam, and the strong aroma of coffee. A retro till tingles as customers pay for their morning brew and choice of sweetened carbohydrates. Though the decor is rustic, the wifi is attractive enough to have a novelist encamped in a corner by the potplants and a cat, typing away at a work that many may never see. Everything is business as usual.
Until someone small and fast in a hoodie swipes the jar off the counter, jinking between tables and chairs and out into the greater hustle and bustle of the city beyond. The teen Tiffany at the till yelled, "Oi!" but could not leave her post. Karen needed her grande soy pumpkin spice no-foam half-caff half-sweet extra-shot extra-hot three pump vanilla upside-down caramel macchiato right now, or she was going to get Tiffany fired with prejudice. The customers were always privileged.
The thief, fleet of foot, spilled purple water whenever they took a turn, zig-zagging away from potential trouble. Alas, in the act of avoiding fate, fate found them anyway. They barrelled straight into a police officer. Spilling coin and purple water all over the scene.
It wasn't hard to retrace the steps. Nor was it a bother to drag the criminal and their evidence back to the little shop on the corner. That... was where a simple narrative got complicated.
Tiffany, still serving the customers, recognised the criminal. "Damnit, Greer! I said get into an alley, tip out the water, and then put the jar in the pack and walk away. What the shit?"
"You two conspired to steal your own tips?" said the cop.
Greer sighed. "We don't get the tips. Boss gets them. We get one percent of the total monthly profits, divided into the hours we worked. Tips not included."
"Minus the cost of any order we screw up," said Tiffany. "And the comp muffins. Which we have to bake ourselves before school."
The cop frowned and put Greer down, removing the cuffs. "I would like," he said, "to speak to your manager."
The latest entitled suicide blonde[1] at the counter glared at him because he had stolen her line.
Tiffany, for a change, grinned and ran to fetch them.
A criminal was arrested, but it wasn't the one who swiped the mason jar. It was the criminal who had been committing serial incidents of wage theft, mistreating minors, and otherwise breaking several OSHA laws by letting underaged persons operate the doughnut machine unsupervised.
The rustic-seeming little shop on the corner was actually a hive of scum and villainy. Tiffany and Greer were allowed to attend school on time and thus not collect another tardy slip. They both gave the cops the freshest doughnuts on their way out.
The only people put out by this were the entitled customers who still demanded their coffee.
The writer in the corner just kept on typing. So long as there was wifi, they had a world to create.
[1] Dyed by her own hand.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / macrovector]
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