Grin and Bear it.

It was another scorcher on the Outer Banks today.

Around ten AM I stepped outside of the coffee shop to make a much needed bank run for smaller bills and change. I was already pink in the face due to the excessive caffeine and constant movement. This, compounded by the exhaust fan blowing hot kiln air from next door into our already steamy part of the building, combined with the 375 degree oven that stays on for a good 4 hours each morning, makes the inside of FPC stay at a constant 85 degrees. As I stepped out into the dense air, the sun blinded me and sweat bubbles instantaneously formed between my breasts and shoulder blades. As my vision returned, I noticed a haze hanging in the air and one deep breath measured the heat index to be at or around 100. I plopped down into the seat of my car, my bare legs sticking to the dark leather, ripping off thin layers of skin as I moved. Precisely why I hate leather.

My sweat bubbles turned to geysers and formed together into a thin steam. Sweat tricked down until sucked dry by the fabric of my dress like desert earth. I pulled on the front of my dress, fanning it back and forth. No help, just grin and bear it (My idiom of the day). The bank run was quick, unpainful, but exhaustingly tiring, as the haze seamed to suck all hydration from my body. I felt my fingers drying despite the sweat forming in the palms of my hands and between my fingers, as I wrapped them around the smooth leather of my steering wheel.

Back inside, I took a quick gulp of water from my favored pink water bottle and returned to manning my station at the register. Sometimes my favorite part of the day is standing at the register greeting each person with a smile, making a transaction, feeling the crisp paper money and round solid coins in between my fingers, making change, fulfilling orders, and talking to strangers.

Some days, I dread it. Those days I want to hide myself behind the mass of mechanics and hot steam pouring out from the espresso machine. I want to loose myself in the simplicity of lattes and cappuccinos, and love it when people order, not the specialty drinks,topped with whip cream and drizzle, but the drinks where I can practice the simple methods of preparation, the orders where I can steam the milk to perfection.

And there are those days, where I can't take either. That's when I need a day off.

At the cash register, a woman wanders in with her friend and begins to ramble about random nonsense. I engage her. I flirt. I smile. I earn a tip. She's easy. She puts a dollar and some change in the bucket. Others don't take so quickly. They're a little more complex. I test. I dip my toes. Maria, a fellow employee, jumps in with a cannonball. She knows everyone by name. She's been with FPC since its inception 11 years ago. I change my methods. Sometimes, I follow suit, a cannonball will do. Other times, it's a graceful swan dive. Sometimes, I don't jump at all. Sometimes, I get pushed in, like with the rambling woman and her friend.

"You are sooo beautiful!" "And your teeth," she continues, "Your teeth are wonderful." I flash her a smile showing my pearly whites that are slowly becoming stained by constant coffee consumption. "My teeth are horrible, back in the 70s everyone had bad teeth and no one did anything about it. Your teeth are great." "Years of painful braces," I respond. She continues. I'm fully soaked now. "You are so beautiful. You look just like my daughter," she says as I take her cash and make change. I smile. "You know, I get that a lot. I must have a common face." "No you look just like her, here." She pulls out her phone and shows me a picture. "This is a bad picture, but really, you look just like her." I nod. "I guess I kinda do," I agree. No, not really, not at all, brown hair, blue eyes. Not the same at all.

We disengage, I come up for air. I climb back out of the water. I begin to dry off. I knock a few more off the line that's waiting impatiently, and get down to one. It's her.

"Really," she says, "you look just like her. I wanna get these magnets. I can't believe how expensive they are though, but I just havvve to get them." She's pushed me, again. "This one is just perfect for my daughter, who you remind me of. She will be here in the beginning of August, she's 21 and my son he's 23, he'll be here in two weeks with his girlfriend." I'm in over my head and she keeps pushing me under. "How old are you?" "24." "Oh, well. This one," she says going back to the magnets, "reminds me of my brother. He's my best friend." She exaggerates the story. "This one reminds me of my first boyfriend. We dated 30 years ago and he got addicted to heroin." Drowning. "He's been clean 20 years, AA and all. And this is just perfect for him." I nod. Still drowning. "And these are just for me. I moved here all by myself and they are just for me, just because. I have to get them. You know, I don't really talk to people this much, but" she shrugs her shoulders. I come up for air. Really? "Maybe it's because I remind you of your daughter." I start swimming, fast, for the shoreline. "Let's ring you up," I say politely. I finish her transaction and walk away from the register. It's time for me to leave. "Do you need a mental break?" Sara asks, as I walk past her at the sink. No. I need a life break. I need a new face.

I grin and bear it. I count the tally of lookalike remarks in my head: six. I predict at least 12 by the end of the season. Half way there. Easily attainable.

I need to go home. Instead, I transfer down to the Nags Head location to fill gaps in the schedule. I orient myself with the different pace by spinning in a circle a few times and making a mess. Hmmm, feels like home.