Bernice shuddered. “Sacramento Layover: The horror!” she wailed to her husband, Harold, as they deplaned. Harold, ever the optimist, patted her hand. “Now, Bernice, it’s just a two-hour wait. Think of it as…an opportunity!”
Bernice glared. “An opportunity for what, Harold? To experience peak airport anxiety?” She eyed the bustling food court with disdain. “The only thing they’re serving here is regret and overpriced pretzels.”
Their gate was next to a children’s play area, which was essentially a brightly colored cage filled with screaming cherubs. Harold suggested they grab coffee. “Maybe caffeine will improve your outlook.”
They joined the snaking queue at the coffee stand. In front of them was a man struggling to control a gaggle of balloon animals, all deflating at alarming rates. One, resembling a giraffe, flopped pathetically onto Bernice’s sensible walking shoes.
“Oh, dear, I am so sorry!” the man stammered, flustered.
Bernice, usually the picture of polite, snapped. “It’s a giraffe apocalypse! That’s what it is! Another sign Sacramento is trying to steal my soul!”
Harold coughed, trying to salvage the situation. “She’s…just a little travel-weary. We’ve had a very long day already!”
The balloon animal man, looking utterly defeated, mumbled something about needing more helium and shuffled away.
Finally, they reached the counter. Harold ordered two coffees. “One decaf for the stressed lady!” he announced cheerfully.
The barista, looking bored, asked, “Name?”
Harold, beaming, said, “Harold and Bernice!”
The barista scribbled on the cups and called out a few minutes later, “Harold! Picking up a…Harold and Burn-ice!”
Bernice gasped. She looked at Harold. Harold looked at her. Then they both looked at the deflated giraffe, now lying limply by the trash can.
Bernice grabbed both coffees. “I knew it! Sacramento! It’s trying to turn me into roadkill!” She poured the contents of one of the coffee cups all over the giraffe. “See? Burn-ice!”
