I looked up at the clock. 3:15 am. Time to reach to the back of the freezer.

This nightly ritual began 2 months ago. I’ve always been a night owl, but I’m also a barista. That job usually requires early hours so when a 24 hour Starbucks opened down the street I was first in line with an application. Most people hate the night shift. It’s usually a combo of homeless people and drunk sorority girls looking for their pumpkin spice latte fix. The homeless usually weren’t a problem, and the drunk girls were good for a tip when the random guy they were going home with threw a $20 in a jar after she’d hurled mango white claw on the floor. Vomit cleans up easy, especially once I learned to start the night with a fresh mop bucket.

That night a different variety of customer walked in. 3:33 am. She was well dressed, early 40’s, still rocking the Kate Gosselin haircut after it had run it’s course.

“Unicorn Frappuccino” she said curtly. In my head I was thinking of writing “Karen” on the cup, but to be safe asked her her name.

“Karen” she said in the same quick and bitchy manner. I almost laughed, but the last thing I wanted to deal with in the early morning hours was a “Karen”. She didn’t seem like the kind to wait till six am till my manager arrived, but you never know.

I started making the frap which I had started calling a “crapuccino”. As a barista, we have to try all the new promotions. These reminded me of a McDonald’s shake, hint of peptobismol and an extra pound of sugar. But oh well. No accounting for taste.

I took extra care in making it, not feeling the desire for complaints. I handed it over to her and she began walking out.

“Enjoy” I said.

“It’s not for me.” She quipped as she hurried out.

I forgot about it. It wasn’t a story worth sharing with the morning crew so I clocked out and went home to sleep.

I don’t usually have dreams, especially not nightmares. I did that day. In my nightmare the same woman from the night before came in, followed by 10 more identical twins. I looked out the window and there was a line of Karens as far as I could see. Everyone ordered a Unicorn Frappuccino. Everyone of them would take a sip and scream that it was the worst thing they’d ever drank. Then they would demand to speak to my manager while shoving a funnel up my ass and giving me a unicorn Frappuccino enema. After having hundreds of Karens in a row do this, I suddenly woke up screaming and realized I’d shut myself. It had a slight pink hue which at first scared me. I thought it was blood, then chalked it up to the bowl of fruit loops I’d had before going to bed that morning.

I cleaned myself up and tried to go back to sleep. I had more dreams. Dreams of riding my bike through the city. I woke to my alarm at 8pm. The bad thing about working through the night is that it’s easy to fall into a habit of sleeping all day. It’s a cycle. Work, go to sleep, wake up and go to work, repeat. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had a day off. It all became a blur after awhile.

That night was the usual crowd of drunks and homeless. It died down after 2:30 and I was actually starting to nod off. The bell over the door startled me awake. It was 3:33 and Karen was back. At first I thought the nightmare was back until she slammed her hand on the counter and shouted “are you going to help me?!”

I moved to the register. At that point some serious deja vu kicked in as she again ordered another unicorn crappuccino.

To break the feeling of my life repeating, I said, “somebody must really like these”. She again said that it wasn’t for her and hurried out the door with the drink. She was the last customer of the night. I had a momentary fear that my nightmare would play out in reality and a crowd of Karens would fill the store.

I left when the morning crew arrived. For a moment I thought about telling them about Karen, but I was too tired. I went home and immediately went to sleep. No more fruit loops after yesterday.

Unfortunately though, yesterday repeated. I had the nightmare again. The coffee shop full of Karens, all demanding to talk to the manager, all shoving their unicorn crappuccino a up my ass. Just like the day before, I awoke screaming. Just like the day before my underwear was full of pink shit.

I started feeling that deep fear you get when your body does something to remind you you’re mortal. Did I have cancer? Was I bleeding internally? It couldn’t be though. It literally looked like peptobismol, not blood. I did what all guys do and talked myself out of going to the doctor. I showered and changed underwear and got back into bed. My underwear had caught it all so the sheets were fine. I slept. More dreams of bicycle riding.

The alarm woke me. I showered and went into work.

As I walked into the coffee shop, past the chalkboard that said “Try the new Unicorn Frappuccino! It’s yummy!”, it reminded me of something from the nightmare. During the attack of the Karens, over one of their shoulders, I could see the chalkboard. It said “Dreams are a vision of Heaven. Nightmares are a taste of Hell.” Hell. That was the perfect way to describe the past two days.

Which turned to three days. Four days. Five days. Every night Karen would appear, order and leave. I’d stopped trying to break the deja vu feeling with small talk. Now I accepted it.

Every morning, going home and going to bed to greet the nightmare I knew was coming. I’d started wearing adult diapers to bed. It was just easier. I didn’t have to get up to change and could transition to the bicycle dream.

I grew more and more haggard. I wasn’t sleeping and when I did I’d wake up shitting myself with peptobismol. All because of Karen and her fucking Unicorn crappuccinos.

By this point I had no friends to talk to. For the past two months my life had been nothing but work and sleep. I’d become a hermit and had started looking as ragged as the homeless that stumbled in at midnight, trying to get free coffee but settling for a cup of hot water.

I walked into the door of the coffee shop, ready to begin the routine all over again. As I walked by the chalk board, I saw it had changed. It no longer advertised the unicorn Frappuccino. Stunned by the first different thing in my life for the past two months. I grabbed one of the day shift baristas leaving for the day and asked them what was going on.

“Limited time. We’re rolling out a holiday Frap tomorrow. Come to a meeting once in awhile and you’d know what’s up.” He said as he brushed past me and out the door.

I smiled. It was over. When Karen showed up tonight, I could tell her to shove it up her ass for a change. No more crappuccinos for that bitch. She was done making my life hell.

As I waited for the inevitable 3:33 door chime that would herald Karen’s arrival, I happily finished the turn over chore list day shift had left. Especially the last item. Move all the Unicorn Frap mix to the back of the freezer till they had time to ship it back to the supplier.

Ding ding. 3:33. Karen.

“Unicorn Frappuccino” she said, as curt and bitchy as the first time she’d come in and uttered those words.

I’d spent most of the night smiling inwardly as I’d worked on what I would say.

“I’m so sorry MA’AM.” I emphasized ma’am for an added bit of verbal acid. “That was a limited time promotion.” I had a shit eating grin as I uttered those magic words.

Nothing. Karen just stared at me. Through me.

“Unicorn Frappuccino.” She said again, almost as if she hadn’t heard him.

“I’m sorry,” I stuttered. “We don’t have those anymore.”

Again nothing. She stood there and then repeated the order.

“Unicorn Frappuccino.” This time more urgently.

“Unicorn Frappuccino!” Again, slamming her hand on the counter.

“UNICORN FRAPPUCCINO!” It was turning into a shouted chant, each time punctuated by slamming her hand on the counter. I swear to god I could see the counter almost buckle under her slamming.

Not knowing what to do I stammered, “I’m sorry! You’ll have to come back in the morning and talk to my manager!”

Karen stopped. For the first time in their two months of interactions he saw her expression change. She smiled. The smile grew, revealing a grin that looked like she was about to devour me.

“No!” She growled. “But you can talk to mine!” She slowly backed out of the store, smiling that horrid smile. That was when I noticed movement in the corner of my eye.

I couldn’t turn to look at the shape in the corner of the shop. I physically couldn’t. I was frozen by some force I couldn’t see. It was large, 9 feet tall at least and a sickly greenish gray. It was pulsating and swirling. It made the hair on my arms and back of neck spring to attention, like the fear and revulsion you’d feel if you looked down and saw a spider crawling up your body.

*”Dreams are a vision of heaven. Nightmares are a taste of hell.” *

The voice chilled me to the bone. It was high pitched and tinny, almost like glass breaking.

“Wha-at” I stammered out.

*”fetch me my drink boy and I’ll let you wake up!” * It’s voice was like fine crystal in a garbage disposal.

What was going on? Wake up? I was awake. This wasn’t the dream.

Dreams. The bicycle dream that came after the Karen nightmare. He remembered it. He’d been riding his bike to apply at Starbucks, but for the evening shift. The truck came out of no where. The impact was so sudden and forceful he’d been dead before he hit the street. How long had he been here? Which part of this afterlife reality was real and which was the nightmare? I suddenly realized I’d never know. I’d be living this existence for eternity. I was literally in hell where the true horror was never knowing what was a nightmare and what was real. Where nightmares and reality were as interchangeable as a unicorn Frappuccino becoming a pumpkin spice latte. This was my eternity.

I applied for the evening shift, because the only 24 hour Starbucks is in hell.