Hi all,
it’s grey and cold outside (although only about -9 degrees at the moment so not bad for January). I fancy a cup of coffee. You coming? Good, let’s go in here. I like this place, there are always interesting people around.
Let’s ask the waiter what we’ve missed.
“Could I get a spoon, please?”
The customer looked respectable in a suit, with soft, fuzzy hair. An economics professor perhaps, or the owner of his own small business. But I’d already brought him two spoons. On top of the one that had been on the table already, when he sat down.
I brought a spoon, but I made a big thing of it. Everyone in the café watched surreptitiously to see what would happen.
He stirred his coffee with it, put it down on the table, and looked out the window onto Bridge Street. Nothing happened. Then a hand reached out of the bag he’d brought with him and sneaked the spoon away. He was stealing the spoons! Or at least aiding and abetting their theft.
“Can I have another cup of coffee?” He asked when I went to clear away the cup. “And a spoon?”
The cheek! “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t have any more spoons.” Just then my colleague came past with a coffee and Bircher muesli for table eight.
“That man is getting a spoon!” he said.
“That’s the last one.”
“Ah? Well… maybe a fork,” he said after looking into his open bag.
“I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have forks either. There is another café just down the road. Or a Starbucks in the other direction.”
“I see.” He threw some money on the table, hoisted his bag – still open, but I couldn’t see what was inside – and left.
I’m glad he didn’t make a scene. I hate it when they do that.
It was only after he’d gone that I noticed the little pile of silver coins under where the bag had been. Disgusting!
