It’s my day off, I sit by the table near the counter in a cafe in the city. The only table free. Every interaction is absorbed by osmosis, whilst my brain fights to stay focused on the paragraphs in front of me. It’s the hospitality-worker instinct. Always be on the lookout for bold behaviour, a classroom assistant for 6-foot toddlers. The pomodoro timer goes off, ‘congrats, you’ve stayed focused for 50 minutes today!’
I lean back in my chair and watch the stream of people approach and retreat from the coffee machine. Suited and booted human waves, forming a tsunami preparing to crack open every office door in the vicinity.
“Hey, how’re you today?”
“Uhhh latte.”
He didn’t look up from the screen, maintaining that non-human connection as his digital wallet greets the card machine. Weird.
“Hey, how’re you today?”
“What milks do you do?”
“Sure, we have soya, oat, almond, coconut and dairy.”
The barista gazes towards the top of a forehead angled downwards.
“Aw sorry, I was so distracted there. What did you say? Do you do oat cappuccinos?”
“Those damn phones, look, everyone in here’s on one. It’s an epidemiiiiic!” a voice strains from the table beside me.
“Society’s doomed, doomed, so it is.”
Across the street, a teenage boy is sheltering from the rain, alone in a doorway. Droplets from his hood fall from his forehead to his cheek to his shoulders. Caramel latte in one hand, phone in the other, a grin stretching the length of a soggy footpath. Who’s looking back from the mirror of the screen? A mate with an inside joke? A long-time crush finally liking his story?
A young mum, her friend sitting across from her at the table. Her phone rings mid-sip of her coconut flat white. “Sorry, I really need to take this, I’ll be two minutes.” She steps outside. We all glance at her through the window. She’s pacing. We’re curious but need to uphold the pretence of privacy. She returns to her seat a little faster than she left it. The end of her scarf had fallen to the floor in her absence. She sweeps it up. Anticipation builds. I don’t know this woman, but I know her husband got his promotion. The friends stand up to share a hug, then a smile, then one more hour together, examining all these new possibilities that lay ahead.
It’s 2 PM the next day and the soles of my feet are on fire. Hiss, tap, swirl, ‘I’ve got a flat white for Karl?’ As I stretch over the counter my nose is disturbed by the smell of souring milk. Jesus christ, is that my shirt? I watch as a mum records her toddler mid-tantrum, a Facetime call, “now, listen to your daddy!” Wotsit confetti crunched into the mat, screeches crunched into my ear drums. My pocket vibrates. ‘Yo, i’m coming home for a month in summer - let’s catch up!’
Hey Google, are there any good cocktail bars nearby?
Awesome peice. That's sounds like a conversation. I love reading it though.