We were adapting well to the new schedule of being up early to open and having dinner at seven-thirty, after we closed. Sarza never worked in the coffee house, but she managed the bills and most of the supplies. If we needed anything, we went to her, and she’d have it bought or delivered.

Except for one time:

“Ally, where are the spare napkins?”

“What spare napkins?”

“You mean we have no more napkins?”

“…We have no more napkins?”

“That’s what I was asking!”

“Did you check the supplies closet?”

I stared at her blankly.

“Okay, did you check the cleaning closet?”

“No.”

“Go check.”

I did.

“They’re not there.”

“Hmm…” Ally thought, cupping her chin with the plastic gloves we used when handling any raw products. “I guess we’re out.”

“We can’t be out. We need napkins.”

“Tell Sarza.”

“I can’t,” I said, getting frustrated. “It’s nine o’clock in the morning! She won’t be back until two!”

And meanwhile we had customers who wanted napkins! I was frantic.

“Well, get out some paper towels, explain to them what’s going on, and I’ll call our napkin supplier.”

“…We have a napkin supplier?”

“Of course. Who do you think prints ‘HACH” onto all the napkins?”

I really hadn’t thought about it.

“Okay, whatever.”

Ally got on the phone and I managed the counter.

“Christy, how many napkins do you think we need?”

“I don’t know. Lots,” I said.

Ally thought a moment, then spoke into the phone. “I’ll take the third option. When will those be delivered? …Can you deliver what you have at the end of the day to us tomorrow morning? …Please? We really need them!”

I had to go clean up a spill at table seven. When I returned Ally was off the phone, and cheery.

“Everything work out okay?”

“Yup. We’re having them delivered tomorrow morning.”

“Great,” I said, setting a roll of paper towels onto the counter. I smiled at a grumpy customer, and returned to work.

-

The next morning:

A large truck pulled up and a burly man got out, walked into the store, and asked for Ally.

“Right here!” She said happily.

He eyed her for a moment. “Sign for the napkins?”

“Sure,” she said, writing her name on the paper he handed her.

“Right. We’ll begin unloading. Where do you want them?”

Ally showed him the storage closet and he exited, returning minutes later with a partner, both toting large, plastic caches of napkins.

“Um… that’s a lot of napkins.”

“Yeah…” Ally said. “That should tide us over for awhile.”

After their fourth trip, I began to be worried.

“Ally, that is way too many napkins!”

“Ma’am, there’s no more room in the closet you showed me.”

“Well…” Ally gulped. “I’ll show you to the other closet…”

They set down a load in that one, tipped their hats, and left.

“Whew. I thought they would never stop coming.”

“Me too.”

And we thought nothing more of it for another hour.

“Can someone sign for these?”

“Er… what are they?”

“Napkins.”

“They were already delivered, thanks.”

The man frowned and consulted his papers. He went out to the truck and brought in an electronic organizer. “Nope, not this batch. You received an installation this morning, sure, but these were ordered several weeks ago.”

“Er…”

“Where do you want me to unload them?”

“I told you just to tell Sarza!” I whispered furiously to Ally as the men were forced to start carting napkins to our upstairs apartments.

“I’m sorry!” Ally said, near tears.

I sighed, and massaged my head.

“Sarza is going to kill me!”

“You?!” I said in surprise. “No. No, it’s my head on the platter for this. I’m supposed to-“ watch you.

The editing system in my head blocked that out. Not the appropriate thing to say.

Ally latched onto me. “We have to hide them!”

“You’re insane.”

“No, really! Please Christy! We have to hide them before Sarza gets home!”

I attacked the packaging the napkins came in like a killer in a slasher movie. I went at them with knives and forks, tearing apart the plastic and watching the napkins spill out.

Oops. Who said anything about being sanitary?

I stacked rows and rows of them in the empty shelves below the counter. I put them in Ziploc bags beneath the cabinet of the public restroom. I stacked them in my dresser drawers. I put them under the sink of our bathroom. I snuck into Nate’s room and put them in an empty drawer. I filled a trash bag with them and stuck it by the garbage can. I sat on the remaining ones to make them squash down and not look like there were so many in the storage closet.

I hid them behind mops and dustpans in the cleaning closet. I put them (in bags again) way at the back of the freezer. I hid them in empty cereal boxes. I even, out of desperation, stuffed a few behind light switches, but they were soon removed as I realized the fire hazard.

I put them under the seldom-used bar in the corner. I put them in boxes and stacked them by the register. I made signs -“Free Napkins!” and “Napkin-Using Encouraged!”

And Ally was right beside me, stuffing napkins into random and obscure places. She lifted up floorboards upstairs I didn’t even know were loose. She stuck them behind our boot rack. She disappeared with armloads at a time and I never saw those napkins again.

We had dispersed of bags of the things, and there were still too many.

“We’ll just have to explain it to Sarza.”

Neither of us had the courage to do so. Sarza came home that day in a foul mood, and I would sooner ask out Jason the Paperboy than even be within ten feet of her.

Nate returned from whatever it was he did all day cheery and smiling, as usual. He returned from using the bathroom wondering why there were napkins in the Kleenex box.

Ally made hush-noises at him and Sarza, busy cooking pork in a pan, didn’t hear anything.
But she saw things.

Sarza opened the refrigerator, and discovered a vegetable drawer packed with napkins.

“What the- …Why are there napkins in the refrigerator?”

Ally and I looked at each other. Nate perked up, happy to finally be getting some answers.

Sarza shook her head, closed the door, and pulled out the lettuce. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. But speaking of napkins, did that shipment come in okay today?”

“Yes,” I said quickly.

“I left a note on the fridge saying someone would need to sign for it.”

I looked at the refrigerator. Damn.

“Uh… yes. We got the note.”

I am a liar. I am a dirty, rotten, liar.

Sarza nodded.

Nate looked disappointed.

“But why were there napkins-“

“Shh!”

We couldn’t remain innocent forever.

Nate opened the cereal box the next morning and all that came out into his milk were napkins.

“Why did you pour your milk first?” Ally wondered.

“Will someone please tell me why there are napkins in the Kleenex box, the refrigerator, and the cereal box?!”

Thankfully, Sarza wasn’t there.

“Well… what happened was… we ran out of napkins.”

“And then I called the company and wanted to have them deliver more-“

“But we weren’t sure how many to get-“

“So we got hundreds!”

“And there were too many to begin with, but then-“

“Sarza had already ordered more-“

“So they showed up too!”

“And there were way too many-“

“So we hid them!”

“Because we couldn’t tell Sarza-“

“Because she’d blow up the world-“

“So we hid them!”

Nate sat, stunned. He looked at the cereal box.

“I want you two to go around to every place you hid the napkins and put them all back in the storage closet.”

“But-“

“I-“

“No,” Nate said. “I will tell Sarza what happened. And no,” he looked at me. “She will not blow up the world. That is silly. You are an adult.”

I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Yes sir.”

“Okay. Now, I think it’s time to open for business.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”