Page 14 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
Joey burst through the back door, still half-asleep and carrying what appeared to be a script. “Morning! Ready for another day of—” He stopped, taking in Anna’s cheese art installation and Bea’s bread meditation. “Are we doing yoga with dairy now?”
“Mindful preparation,” Anna explained. “It’s about bringing artistic consciousness to routine tasks.”
“It’s about being three orders behind before we even open,” Joey said, automatically reaching for his napkin station. “Stella, please tell me you’ve been doing actual prep work while they’ve been... whatever this is.”
“I’ve been slicing bread, mate,” Stella said. “The regular way. Without spiritual consultation.”
“Thank God,” Joey muttered, then caught himself. “I mean, artistic consciousness is great, but maybe we could be conscious about efficiency too?”
Anna looked up from her cheese mandala with genuine confusion. “Why rush? The Beach Shack has been serving food for fifty years. Surely, we can take a few extra minutes to honor the process.”
“We can honor the process while still opening on time,” Stella suggested diplomatically.
Bea gasped. “Opening time is just an arbitrary social construct! What if the restaurant naturally wants to open whenit feels ready? What if we’re forcing an unnatural rhythm onto this beautiful space?”
Joey’s left eye started twitching. “The restaurant doesn’t have feelings. It has customers. Who expect food. At specific times.”
“Everything has energy,” Bea said serenely, now slicing her single loaf with the careful precision of a surgeon. “I can feel this bread’s gratitude for being handled with respect.”
The front door chimed, and Harold, Bernie’s poker buddy, wandered in for his usual morning coffee and Classic.
“Morning, Harold,” Joey called, abandoning the philosophical bread discussion to handle actual business. “The usual?”
“Please,” he said with a wary look at Anna.
Harold studied the cheese arrangement. “Looks like you’re exploring the intersection of breakfast and lunch rush without actually preparing either.”
Stella felt something click into place. “Anna, what if we tried mindful efficiency?”
“That’s brilliant!” Anna said, immediately destroying her cheese mandala to grab a knife. “Intentional slicing! Each cut made with gratitude and purpose!”
“Perfect,” Stella said, relieved. “Bea, maybe you could bring mindful energy to multiple loaves? Like, honor the whole wheat family instead of just that one?”
“I love this compromise,” Bea said, reaching for more bread. “Collective carbohydrate consciousness!”
Margo appeared from the kitchen, observing the scene with the patient expression of someone who’d seen every possible variation of family chaos.
“How’s it going?” she asked Stella quietly.
“We’re translating artistic philosophy into practical application,” Stella replied.
“Ah. And how’s that working?”
“Better than expected. They just needed to feel like the work itself was creative instead of routine.”
Margo nodded approvingly. “You’re good at this. Finding ways to let people be who they are while still getting things done.”
By the time Bernie arrived for his daily reconnaissance mission, Anna and Bea had found their rhythm. Anna was slicing cheese like it was the most important thing in the world. Bea was arranging bred in a more appealing arrangement.
“Morning, artists,” Bernie announced, settling at his corner booth. “How are we adjusting to Beach Shack operations?”
“It’s very inspiring,” Bea said, pausing in her bread arranging. “The energy here is so collaborative. Everyone’s finding their own way to contribute meaningfully.”
“Interesting perspective,” Bernie said, making notes on his tablet. “Stella, how would you describe this morning?”
“Educational,” Stella said after a moment. “I’m learning about different approaches to... motivation.”
“Ah. And Joey?”
