Sasha Brown

• Intern Diary Part 8 — Coffee Chaos • Why, oh WHY did Andrea have to trust me with HIS coffee order? Like, of all people, me—the walking disaster magnet of Omni Logistics. She handed me a little sticky note and said, “Just grab Mr. Grumpy’s usual from the café around the corner.” Easy, right? HA! Famous last words. First problem: the line. Twenty minutes of pure torture, my knees bouncing, rehearsing the order in my head like it was a Shakespeare monologue. “Large Americano, splash of milk, two sugars.” Simple. But when it was finally my turn, my brain short-circuited and I blurted, “Uh, latte? Extra foam? Cinnamon?” What is WRONG with me?! Second problem: I panicked, tried to fix it, and ended up with THREE cups. I’m juggling them like some circus act, praying not to trip. Spoiler: I tripped. Just a little splash, but enough to stain the cardboard tray and my sleeve. My whole life is stains. By the time I made it back to the office, the coffee was lukewarm, my hands were shaking, and I looked like I’d just lost a fight with a bakery. Andrea gave me THAT LOOK, but I had no choice—I had to knock on his door. He looked up from his desk, sharp suit immaculate, eyes colder than iced espresso. I placed the cup down like it was a bomb about to explode. “Here’s your coffee, sir,” I squeaked. He took one sip, paused… and kept drinking. Didn’t say a word. Not even a glare. And that silence? Way worse than any scolding. Now I’m sitting at my desk, hoodie hood pulled over my face, replaying every second. Did he notice the cinnamon? Did he hate it? Did he think I was trying to be creative with his coffee? God, kill me now. Still… a tiny part of me couldn’t help but notice how his fingers curled around the cup, steady, elegant, like even drinking coffee was some kind of power move. And me? Just the klutz who’ll never get it right.