Ten Thousand Spoons When All You Need Is A Knife

Desi Costello ran into work, rushed to the register, and began to punch her id into the keyboard in order to clock–in. Marisol, her shift supervisor, stood next to her.

"You know you are supposed to be ready to work when you punch in."

"I know, I know," Desi replied, and began twisting a ponytail holder around her long, black hair. "But the bus was running late. It's not my fault." She pushed her small, octal–shaped glasses back upon her nose.

"Yeah, but Lori's still here. Get your apron on and hurry."

"She's here. Still?" Desi's nose wrinkled and her eyebrows furrowed.

"Quarterly paperwork, I think. Or she's having a fight with her husband and doesn't want to go home."

Speak of Shiva, and Shiva appears— Lori came out of the backroom, a stack of papers in her left hand and a giganto sized in–house cup of coffee in her right.

"Where's Bob? I'm going to kill him," she asked.

'We can't blame it all on Bob,' Desi thought, 'though we do try.'

"I know this sounds like makework," Lori said, "but some company accountant wants an inventory count every year. And Bob! He can't just make up numbers wily nilly. I have to answer for these figures."

"Why? What's the problem?"

"We have more spoons than we've ever ordered."

"That can't right. I mean people aren't bringing in their own spoons and leaving 'em for us".

"What is the accelerated depreciation on a spoon, I wonder," Desi asked. "Why do we even have spoons?"

"Real spoons are more Green. It's part of the socially minded life style our guests enjoy here at Café du Jour," Lori stated.

"Except for the hot water in the power wash sink," Desi added.

Marisol's eyes told her to keep quiet.

"I'm on Drive–Thru?" Slipping the headset over her head, Desi said,"Welcome to Café du Jour. How may I take your order?"

At closing, it was just Marisol and Desi. Desi was getting a ride from her co–worker, and though she wanted to leave, she waited while Marisol had her last cigarette of the night.

They settled onto the floor of the office.

"Spare a cigarette?"

"I thought you quit."

"I'm quiting unless I have to stay up all night. Cigaritto por favor."

Marisol passed one over. Marisol was pretty much dedicated to the job when on the clock, but she became chatty when the work was done.

"I felt like such a witch," Marisol confessed. She and Desi sat on the floor of the coffeshop's office. Desi's eyes strayed to the flat screen monitor. The security camera showed them a dark, yet still clear, view of their dining area. The pale illumination streamed in from the lights of the parking lot that the shop shared with other stores in the mall.

"I was showing a new hire around. We came to the daily use bins, and I asked him to sweep up all the coffee beans that were on the floor. You know from the broken bags and all… "

"Yeah, we get a lot of them. More than statistical probability should allow for."

"So he put the beans from the floor back into one of the bins. I lost it. I screamed, 'What are you doing!'"

"There! There. What was that?" Desi asked. Marisol ceased the recounting of her story, and looked to the monitor.

"Nothing. It was a spot on the screen. Could even have been a fly."

"No, it was something. This time it's not just a fly. Let's go." Desi pushed herself off the office floor, and ran for the dining area. She flicked on the lights. And…

The something stood by the condiment bar.

"G'Day mate. Or nite since you're antipodean," it said. It was ugly, brutal, and short. Long pointed ears swung like bats' wings from its head. Prickly fur covered its body. It smiled through large carnivorous teeth and fangs.

"What was in that cigarette!" Marisol said.

"What are you?" asked Desi.

"I'm a Gremlin."

"Like in the Twilight Zone? But what are you doing here?"

"Oh a little mischief. Have to sabotage your coffee bags to spill all over the floor. I've done a few other things 'round here that I like to check up on, too. Such as the fact that your town name prints out wrong on the receipts?"

"My God! It's Palinfield, not Plainfield. He – it's right."

"And to deliver a supply of spoons, of course. These are from Melbourne. Oh! You should see the utensils from Adelaide."

"Spoons?" Desi sputtered. "Why are you leaving spoons here?"

"Where am I to be putting 'em? A pot o' spoons at the end of the rainbow!"

"Why do you have to be so rude?"

"I'm a Gremlin, sugar bosoms."

"Okay, now I know I'm offended."

"Took you long enough, baby. Look, I know, it's a let down from drinking motor oil and antifreeze from combat squadrons and WWI flying circuses. But a Gremlin does what a Gremlin can. A torn bag here, a missing spoon there. Say, you're a nice Sheila."

'I don't know what that means, but I don't like the sound of it,' Desi thought.

Desi lifted her middle finger. "I like you," the creature said, guffawing.

"I've a memory gleas about me someplace. Oh, yes. You won't remember anything tomorrow."

Desi Costello rushed into work. The bus was late again. She paused at the Condiment Bar. She glanced at the napkins embossed with the company logo, ran her hand along the packets of sugar, sugar substitute and honey. But she stopped at the small cup for the spoons. It was overflowing. Again. She picked up two of them. 'The company could at least buy the same design,' she thought. 'I know times are tough, but did they get these at a garage sale?

No, but there was something about where the spoons came from… Something she couldn't recall clearly.

"Hey," yelled Marisol, "time to punch in."

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