Note: Original fic set in the Subcafe, created in large part by Kielle.

Subreality Cafe: Resume Delivery



The Mailman finished explaining to the young yuppy couple (TM) that, no, she did not know where "Cedar" was. After all, did they mean Cedar Road, Cedar Street, Cedar Ave, Cedar Point or Cedar Court? Or were they asking about the Cedar Apartment complex, which was located on Piney Tree Road? It really didn't matter.

She said, "No."

The young yuppy couple left in their excessively large SUV, which they couldn't park in their driveway. The Mailman stepped off the brakes, careened through a donut (jelly-flavored) and continued to the next address.

Oh, wait, that one was vacant.

Nevertheless, there was a letter for that address, with a yellow sticky on it. The yellow sticky, "Subreality Cafe (no street number or name provided - good thing she was the regular on this route), C/O Manager, Subreality, SC XXXXX." The Mailman knew the real address, of course but couldn't publish it due to legal reasons.

Well, damn. The Subcafe was a dismount, and for one lousy piece of mail, too.

The Mailman sped up, taking a corner so sharply, her rear end slid out and mowed over a line of mailboxes. She figured the residents would blame it on the dump truck, or maybe UPS. From there, she she went over a road so full of potholes it could hardly be called a road but perhaps, the grand canyon of alleys. Then, just for good measure, she ran over someone's pet dog.

There it was.

She mashed the brakes, chirping the tires, skidding in the loose gravel, throwing up a cloud of brown dust which promptly adhered to her vehicle windows. The Cafe sure looked vacant. The windows were boarded up, where they weren't covered by solicitation posters. Parts of the sign were shorted out, so it proudly declared "ub-eal Caf" in rainbow colors. Portions of the wall stucco had peeled to reveal ancient brickwork beneath.

She looked at the letter. Yep, yellow sticky. Fine. Glancing around, she decided that a postal inspector was unlikely to be present. She pulled the vehicle in closer to the Cafe, pulling across two spots and a portion of the curb, parked and left her side door open. No point in going through trouble locking it if the Cafe was still closed.

The Mailman pounded on the dilapitated door with the side of her fist (the doorbell was broken), then listened for footsteps. Or dogs. She braced her foot against the door, just in case there was a door-lunger.

There were footseps, followed by a muffled, "Oh for Pete's sake! Who the hell is - ?" The door opened so the Manager could see the person causing the infernal racket. "Oh. Sorry, sir... ma'am?" H/she looked puzzled for a moment, then grinned. "Oh!"

"You're open?" declared the Mailman, baldly, since she hadn't been hired for her overflowing social skills.

"Yes! Yes, we are. Do you have something for us?"

The Mailman thrust the letter in the Manager's face. "Letter. Resume delivery?"

The Manager, accustomed to varied personality types, didn't take offense. "Yes." H/she turned to go back inside, "Oh, and don't forget, we're open Saturdays!"

The Mailman was already leaping back inside her truck. She waved a glove-clad hand to acknowledge the information and bellowed, "Got it!" She didn't have time for chit-chat and made a mental note to remove the vacancy marker from the Cafe's mail slot back at the Office.