“Yep,” I say, sharing an awkward smile with Sam. Is he flirting with me? He keeps holding my gaze a little too long. I’m not sure whether to stare back or look down. Working at a coffee shop for nine dollars an hour is not my ideal scenario, but it’s all I can think of on such short notice.
“Anyway, sorry.” Sam smiles. “They make me ask everyone this. ‘Why do you want to be a part of the Starbucks family?’”
I can’t help but snicker. Sam does too.
“I know,” he says. “Cheesy, right?”
“It’s fine. You want me to answer?”
He chuckles again, but it’s a little strained. “Need to write something here, so…”
“Um, well. I’m friendly,” I say. A sharp pain shoots through my temples. “I love coffee…” My right ear goes silent, and then a faint ringing echoes through that ear. I wince.
Not now, I think. Please, not here. I try to keep smiling. The ringing moves to my left ear. It’s low and steady. “I…I’ve always gotten along with everyone. Except my brother.” Forcing a nervous laugh, I try to concentrate as the ringing grows. Stay calm, I think. Stay calm.
In the distance, over Sam’s shoulder, I notice a businessman in a faded suit. He limps towards us from the other side of the glass window. Pressure builds behind my eyes. The businessman looks like he’s walking through quicksand. I brush my hands over my face, forcing myself to focus. “I…work well in…”
Each step the businessman takes causes the ringing in my head to grow louder. I’m still talking to Sam, but I can’t hear my own voice. My throat constricts, the ringing taking over. Sam appears to be following along, but there’s now a puzzled expression on his face. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.
The businessman halts behind Sam. Slowly, he peers into the window. His face is gaunt. Mouth agape. When his bloodshot eyes find mind, bile rises in my throat. I am officially going crazy. Either that or this man is officially dead. Both scenarios are not good.
Sam must agree with me, because he suddenly stops smiling. His eyes widen. “Um,” he says, motioning to my nose. “You’ve got a…”
I feel a soft dribble below my nostril and bring a hand to my face. A streak of blood smears my fingers.
“Excuse me,” I say.
Stumbling outside, I rush over to a trashcan and retch, again and again. After awhile, I’m just dry heaving. I glance in the window, and by the way Sam stares blankly back at me I know the interview is over. Trembling, I grasp the side of the trashcans. What the hell is happening to me?
* * *