“Is that a dosimeter you have on there?”

The barista looked down, startled, at the badge clipped to her apron. “What, this?”

“Yeah,” the customer said. Seeing the expression on the barista’s face, he added: “I was an x-ray tech before I went back to school. I used to have to wear one to make sure I didn’t accidentally irradiate myself.”

“Oh, I work as an x-ray tech too,” the barista said with a nervous smile. “I just need a second job to make ends meet, you know?”

“Boy howdy, do I ever,” the customer said. “They didn’t pay me half of what the doctors were making even though it was my butt on the line. That’s why I quit and went back to school.”

“Yeah, that’ll always be the dream,” the barista said.

“Anyway, I don’t mind, but you might want to take it off here at job number two,” the customer said, collecting his latte. “You don’t want anyone getting nervous because of al the hysteria around radiation.”

“Of course,” the barista said. “Have a nice day.”

Once the customer was gone, and the shop was empty, the barista walked into the back, put her lead apron on, and began adjusting the coffee accelerator, which was set to bathe the signature brew in 74 terabecquerels of cesium-137.

“No more interruptions,” she whispered with a quiet smile.

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