|
PUBLISHED
IN BLOOM MAGAZINE
For
many years I’ve patronized the same coffee shop around the corner from where I
work, downtown. They’re warm and
welcoming, exchange pleasantries, miss me when I don’t show up and don’t
frown if I’m a few pennies short. However,
a few days ago, on my way in from the GO train, I decided to try a change at an
uppity, huge, fancy place. Well,
what an experience in alienation!
I
said a cheery good morning (as I’m used to) – no response. I asked for a bagel.
“Which
one” the server asked abruptly as though I should know before
I order. So I peered at the tree
that had a variety of bagels hanging from it’s branches, some with no name and
strange seeds. So I had to ask what
they were and the server didn’t look happy, impatient to serve her regulars
who KNOW what a fuzzy looking bagel with green thingies is all about. Anyway, I chose a bagel and while it was being toasted, I went looking for coffee which
I was told was at the other end of the store.
I decided to be adventurous because my regular coffee shop is a little joint
that offers only three choices – here there were mega choices. The coffee
line-up was long behind me – mostly regulars I could tell because they were
holding those little punch cards with free coffees at the end of the line. So I
made a quick decision to have a mochachino. The server glanced at me impatiently
tapping her finger and barked, “milk?” Yes I said. “Which one”
she asked with raised eyebrows, eager to serve the cute guy behind me who
actually got a smile! “What kinds
of milk do you have?” I asked not to be outdone by a cutie-pie. She pointed to
five milk jugs. I then committed the further sin of asking her which one she
recommended and it was as though I’ve abused her. She frowned, leaned over and
took the order from the ‘cute’ guy behind me and barked at me “your choice
lady”. Intimidated at being
called a lady (which by this time I was sure I’m not!), I quickly decided. She
banged the coffee in front of me and I made one final mistake of asking where I
should pay. “Over there” she
said and turned to the next customer before I could make the mistake of asking
another question.
I
lugged bag, briefcase and suspect mocchachino over to the central cash, where
everyone had exact change and I had a $20/- bill which made both me and the bill
very unwelcome. “Nothing
smaller” the cashier asked loudly while people behind me shifted their feet
and sighed loudly at my insensitivity in presenting a large bill. I found myself
apologizing profusely at infringing on their territory while I tried to explain
that if I had something smaller I would have used it rather than be treated like
an alien.
I
suddenly realized I hadn’t picked up the bagel so I rushed over.
Well, I should have known that you don’t pick where you order – silly
me. So I was sent off to pick-up
spot, bright red in the face, with ‘rookie’ written all over me. Everyone
knew by now that I’m a novice and I knew I’m not welcome here unless I know
the ropes. I thought any minute now someone would ask me where I’m from?
At
the bagel pick-up place, stood a scary server, knife in hand asking which of the
dozen spreads I wanted on my bagel. By
this time I decided I’ll take whatever I get and run for my life but it
wasn’t that simple. I had to line up again to pay for the bagel – with exact
change this time.
I
think they were happy to see me leave; I know I was happy to leave, butter less
bagel and all. I certainly
appreciate my little coffee shop and it’s smiling faces all the more.
It’s
really nice to be a regular.
Maybe there could be a warning label on backpacks saying
"Beware - dangerous to the health of anyone within
three feet." Are
there laws that protect victims of backpack mugging? And did I
forget to mention that a bigger than usual snozzle attracts more
than the usual number of hits - my recent red and bruised nose
is a constant reminder.
|
