Chapter Text
"I'll get an extra-large, half-caf, nonfat, no-foam mocha with an extra shot, pumpkin pie syrup, whip, caramel and extra cinnamon."
Leonard grits his teeth, takes a deep breath and manfully resists sighing audibly. He does, however, roll his eyes and share a long-suffering glance with Christine, who's currently busy stirring the grounds in all four of the drip cones at her station. He can get away with this since Mr. Starbucks who's currently taking up space at his station hasn't bothered to look up from busily tapping away on his iPhone, not even to place his stomach-churning order.
Probably tweeting every second of his day and his only follower is his mother.
"I'm sorry, but we don't do espresso drinks or flavored coffees." That gets Insulin-Shock Boy's attention and he finally lifts his head for probably the first time since he entered the shop. He's not bad-looking, reminding Leonard of a young Frank Zappa, though this guy sports a full-on handlebar mustache instead of Frank's trademark goatee.
Plaid shirt? Check. White t-shirt? Check. Skinny jeans? Check. Chucks? Probably. Knit cap even though it's unseasonably warm?
Leonard notes the light sheen of sweat at Zappa Wannabe's hairline.
Check.
Generic San Francisco Hipster #189,403 looks around for a moment, probably bewildered by the absence of hulking espresso machines and bottles of syrups as well as the presence of two dozen large bins on the shelves behind Leonard filled with a variety of coffee beans.
Probably doesn't even know what beans have to do with coffee.
"But this is a coffee shop," Genius responds.
"Astutely noted," Leonard replies, "but we only serve drip coffee, each cup made to order." He waves a hand at the large, clearly-written menu high on the wall behind the counter and begins the oft-repeated spiel. "As you can see we have thirty kinds of coffee in three different roasts: light, medium and dark. They're all available in small or large, black or with your choice of dairy and non-diary milks and natural or artificial sweeteners."
Einstein stares dumbly at the menu and Leonard gives the next customer an apologetic look before asking her, "What can I get started for you?"
"Hey, I haven't ordered yet," His Highness barks, glaring at Leonard.
I bet your penis is the size of a Tic-Tac and lasts just as long.
"It takes a few minutes for each cup to brew, so I can make several at a time." He Who Must Be Obeyed does not look happy, so Leonard adds, "Unless you've decided?"
"Fine," Twitter Boy finally huffs. Leonard starts on two orders before Mr. Observant whines, "That says 'Mocha' right there," and points at the menu.
Leonard focuses on the roar of the burr grinder for a moment before he dumps the grounds in a cone and begins pouring hot water over them. "That would be the Mocha Tesora. It's one of our darkest blends with distinctive chocolate overtones and is usually served with a dusting of cocoa powder." He keeps his eyes on the cones, stirring the grounds and waiting for Sherlock's next brilliant query.
He doesn't have to wait long.
"Can I get whipped cream?"
Of fucking course.
Leonard finishes stirring sugar into a cup before handing it over to a regular who normally gives him a dollar tip, but this time she slides a five into his hand and gives a pointed glance at Stephen Hawking who's tapping his hand impatiently on the counter. Leonard thanks her before giving the current bane of his existence a quick glance.
"No."
He looks out at the line of customers snaking out the door, even at almost noon, and calls out, "Large Ether, soy, two Splendas!" The customer picks up his coffee with a whispered "good luck" and Leonard looks over at Veruca Salt, who appears on the verge of a tantrum. "We have heavy cream, whole, low-fat and nonfat only. Now, can I get you anything?"
"You call this a coffee shop?" James Beard snaps. Leonard slowly turns his head to look over his shoulder at the three shelves laden with hundreds of pounds of painstakingly-sourced, freshly-roasted, custom-blended coffee beans.
Just as slowly, he turns back around and raises his eyebrow, infusing the look with as much condescension as he can muster. (And he’s been told he can muster quite a lot.)
Apparently he’s successful as Mustache Guy flushes red. "I'm gonna destroy you on Yelp," Beanie Boy hisses before he storms out. Or at least attempts to. His exit is hampered by the enormous crowd of patrons, all of whom appear to be taking great amusement in his embarrassment.
Leonard just chuckles and takes another customer's order.
This day is looking better already.
---
The rest of Monday pretty much flies by in its usual endless stream of taking orders, answering questions for the newbies, and making sure China Basin's residents, employees, tourists and commuters from the nearby CalTrain station are sufficiently caffeinated.
It's certainly not his dream job, but he's been here since this branch opened four years ago and there are things about it he'll miss when he starts med school in the fall. When he and his mother moved to San Francisco five years ago, this part of town was still considered somewhat sketchy. The ballpark was only a few years old and the Giants were still a few seasons away from winning the Series and selling out every game. Everywhere he looked, something was under construction: condos, office buildings, public transportation. It was a neighborhood on the verge of becoming, and he still finds himself surprised by all the changes he's witnessed in a few short years.
When UCSF Medical opened their campus across the street, Mama began making a habit of taking one of the university's shuttles from her lab at the Virology Department over at San Francisco General and meeting him for lunch on Wednesdays. During the season, when the Giants are in town, they walk over to AT&T Park and watch a couple innings from the free viewing area in right field or just stroll along McCovey Cove and enjoy the sight of the kayakers and boaters hanging out, listening to the game on their waterproof radios and hoping to catch a "splash" homerun.
He makes a mental note to check in with her to confirm they're still on for this week since she's been busier than usual lately. The Cubs are in town, and while he's a son of a son of the South, Mama is a proud Skokie girl who still speaks with a pronounced Chicago accent despite almost 30 years in Atlanta. Daddy never had much interest in professional sports other than golf, so it was Mama who taught young Leo about the importance of a good bunt, the evils of the designated hitter and to never forget that "there's always next year." Vital knowledge for any fan of the Cubbies.
He'll miss their Wednesday lunches when he starts school, but he's too excited to finally be moving ahead with his career after several years of stagnation to worry too much. He can't wait to finally follow in his parents' footsteps.
His mind continues to wander as he takes orders, grinds beans, pours water, steeps the occasional tea, lightens, sweetens and serves. The traffic ebbs and flows: hot drinks for the late-morning crowd, iced after lunch as people come in looking for something to get them through the rest of their work day and help them cool off in the surprisingly hot afternoon. As is typical for The City, the temperature drops and the fog begins to roll in as evening nears. The crowd has increased as fans in orange and black – and a few in Cubs' blue – come in to grab something to help keep them warm before heading to the park for another night game on the edge of San Francisco Bay.
Leonard's got two orders working when he catches sight of the man at the head of the line: Chucks, skinny jeans, white t-shirt under a plaid flannel shirt under a hoodie, huge headphones over a Cubs beanie (which he probably wears because it's ironic) his head bent low over his iPhone.
Angels and ministers of grace deliver me from hipsters.
"I can help whoever's next." He stares directly at Hoodie Boy, who's still focused on his phone, thumbs going a mile a minute. "Sir?" The man still doesn't respond and finally the elderly woman behind Steve Jobs taps him gently on the shoulder. His head snaps up and he looks at the woman as she points at the counter and he nods and gestures at her before holding his phone up to ostensibly show her something.
Probably Instagraming a picture of his dinner from the organic raw vegan food truck.
After a few more gestures between him and the woman, Mime Guy finally walks up to the counter and Leonard is struck by the sight of quite possibly the most gorgeous blue eyes he's ever seen framed by quite possibly the ugliest glasses he's ever seen.
"What can I get started for you?" Blue Eyes gives him a beautiful big smile and places his arms on the chest-high counter. Between the eyes and the smile, Leonard is finding it hard to keep up his usual level of annoyance, so he focuses on the headphones still firmly attached to Jay-Z's head.
No wonder the big money is in audiology.
Instead of replying, Hearing Aid Boy holds his phone up to Leonard, who ignores it.
Really don't give a shit about your status, kid.
"What would you like to drink?" The kid has the temerity to roll his eyes and moves the phone closer, giving it a little shake for emphasis.
Leonard's about to argue when he catches sight of the text at the top of the screen.
DEAF
He closes his eyes and wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole.
I am the worst person EVER.
He mouths "Sorry," and the kid shrugs it off with a grin.
Leonard takes the phone and begins reading.
DEAF
Hi, I'm Jim.
I haven't been here before. What do you recommend?
Please type your response.
Sorry in advance for the inconvenience.
This must've been what the kid, Jim, was typing while waiting in line and the thought makes Leonard feel even worse. He's impressed by the proper use of capitalization and punctuation since he feels like he's the only one who cares about such things anymore. He gives Jim a nod of understanding and begins typing.
Hi, I'm Leonard. Sorry for being rude.
Do you like dark, medium or light roast?
Sweet, fruity, nutty, chocolaty?
Large or small? Milk? Sugar?
OK if I help a few people while you decide?
As Jim's reading, Leonard finishes up two orders, looking up when Jim gives him a "go ahead" wave and steps aside so the customers can pick up their drinks and Leonard can get to work on three more cups, keeping a cone free for Jim's order.
Jim sets the phone back on the counter, and once Leonard has all three cones going, he picks it up to read Jim's response.
Don't worry about it. Happens all the time.
Let's start in the middle. Medium roast, please. Large.
Who doesn't love chocolate?
I have a bit of a sweet tooth. Whole milk, two sugars.
I leave it in your capable hands. *g*
Sorry again for being a pain.
This time it's Leonard who waves off the apology and he gets a scoop of Philtered Soul and puts it in the grinder, dumps the grounds in the filter and pours hot water over them as Jim watches, folding his hands on the counter and resting his chin on top.
Since he's got some time as the coffees drip, he looks at Jim, gestures to his headphones and tilts his head. Jim mouths "Sorry," pulling them off and settling them around his neck as Leonard shakes his head, looking apologetic. He points at the headphones again, shrugging his shoulders and Jim nods his understanding. He begins typing again as Leonard hands off two cups and starts another order before picking up Jim's phone to read his response.
Defense mechanism.
Without the headphones, people assume I can hear, since that's normal.
With them, people assume I can't.
I get bumped into a lot less but scowled at a lot more.
It's a trade-off. *shrug*
Leonard is impressed with Jim's ingenuity but the way Jim used "normal" makes him uncomfortable for some reason. Only a couple of people remain in line; outside the window the crowds are hurrying toward the park in order to make first pitch. He finishes Jim's coffee, setting it on the counter for him and placing the sugar and milk next to it since it will be far easier for Jim to adjust it himself instead of going back and forth to get Leonard to add more, as he’d usually do.
Jim smiles and raises the cup in a short toast before taking a sip. He nods in satisfaction and gives a thumbs up with his free hand. Leonard gestures at the phone and Jim gives him a nod as he puts a lid on the cup while Leonard types.
That's the Philtered Soul, milk, medium sweet, if you decide to order it again.
And don't tell anyone I said this, but...
GO CUBS! :D
He hesitates for a moment before adding another line.
I'm not sure if I'd say hearing is "normal" as much as "common."
Handing the phone back to Jim before he can erase that last line, he begins cleaning up the used filters and grounds, tossing them in the compost bin while watching Jim from the corner of his eye. He sees Jim's shoulders shake briefly with a silent chuckle before Jim looks up at him again, his expression thoughtful.
"Thanks, Leonard," he mouths. It takes a moment for Leonard to understand what he's trying to say until he realizes Jim was pronouncing his name lee-oh-nard. Leonard feels his face flush and just nods in acknowledgement as he walks over to the cash register. He normally doesn't cash people out, but Janice is in the back and Christine and Geoff can take care of the few people left in line.
Jim hands over a five and waves Leonard off when he tries to give him his dollar in change, mouths "Thanks" and raises his cup in salute, giving Leonard another big smile before leaving the shop.
Leonard returns to his station and sees Geoff, Christine and Janice all grinning at him. He looks down at his shirt. "What? Did I spill something?"
"That was very nice of you, Leonard." He doesn't think he's ever seen Christine smile that wide.
"Hey, he was new. You know there's always a learning curve." All three keep grinning and he feels himself blush again.
"Besides, he's deaf." He starts wiping down the counter, ignoring the looks his coworkers are giving him. "I'm a grouch, not an asshole."
---
Later that night, he and Mama catch each other up on their days as he eats dinner in the living room in front of the TV. When the Cubs manage to hold on to win 3-2, Leonard smiles and thinks of Jim.