Dunkin Love

I’m out of her league, but who am I to say anything? She has long fake purple fingernails, they were yellow last week. The vibrant colors match the leaping unicorn tattoo on her arm. Red streaks taint her hair that flows under her Dunkin Donuts cap. It’s a messy coloring like someone dumped a can of paint over her head as a prank before work, and she didn’t have time to shower. I pull up to the drive through window eager to continue our magical chemistry.

“Um, did you want this iced?” she says while brazenly chewing gum.

I love her ability to multitask. It shows leadership.

“Yes, please.”

Dunkin Donuts doesn’t make their employees wear name tags. I fantasize names for her: Kathy, Maureen, Lisa, Gina. I scan for a necklace. She looks like the type of girl that would buy a pendant with her name spelled out in giant block gold letters. Her uniform shirt is three sizes too big, draping over a skinny frame. I can’t tell how old she is either. She could be twenty-one or forty-one. Dating a mother with kids used to be off the table, but now I wonder if having an instant family will save time.

“I’ll have to remake this,” she says.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, noticing the line of cars behind me. Florida drivers are impatient and being shot in a drive through is a high probability. I take the coffee out of her hands.

“Cool nails.”

“What?”

“Your nails are cool.”

“Oh, thanks”

She smiles, appreciating this comment.

“Do you like Munchkins? The guy before you ordered a bunch and I forgot to give it to him.”

“Pay it forward,” I say. I used the phrase completely wrong. It’s too late to take it back, but she’s impressed.

My car lurches forward onto the street, and I spill my coffee all over my lap.