There is a blonde girl who works at my neighbourhood Second Cup. She is very disgruntled. She is quite young – possibly even a teen – and looks like she’s on the lamb from the National Ballet School, yet she appears to be a senior member of the staff. I was there this morning, thinking about life in outer space, and was privy to a series of inarticulate diatribes about the new “holiday” staff. The jist of these diatribes regarding holiday staff is this: she HATES them.
I deliberately chose this Second Cup (Yonge & Wood, for you locals) because:
a) There’s always a seat;
b) There are a couple of places to plug your laptop in; and
c) They charge money for wireless internet access, which BLOWS and which then encourages me to eschew the information superhighway and actually get some work done. For those of you interested in FREE wireless access in the GTA, by the by, check out www.wirelesstoronto.ca
I got a good hour and a half into my work before I started to really listen in on the drama by the espresso machine. It all started when the disgruntled blonde girl angrily slammed the door to a cupboard and said "GOD!" so loudly I almost called the police. I was riveted.
Disgruntled Blonde Girl: Rory threw the cloths out! What am I supposed to wipe the steamer spout with, my bare HANDS? GOD.
Mild Mannered Dark Haired Girl: There’s more cloths under the bean grinder.
DBG: (will not be comforted) That’s not the point. The point is that then he wrapped the shortbread wrong.
(This is true. The holiday shortbread rolls look like ass. I feel some kinship with Rory, as I too am challenged with it comes to wrapping gifts. No matter how much time and care I take to do things up nice, my presents always come out looking like blind children from Ecuador wrapped them with their feet.)
MMDHG: Well . . .
DBG: Michelle came in and said “What happened to the shortbread rolls?”, like I was supposed to do something about them and I’m like “It’s not my fault you guys hired a retard.”
MMDHG: Did you SAY that?
DBG: Duh, no. She was all “Did you supervise?” and I was like “MiCHELLE. It was busy in here and I was the only one who could work the machine ‘cause Rory burned his hand on it ‘cause he threw out the good cloths. GOD. I mean, you know?
Mild Mannered Dark Haired Girl did know.
MMDHG: Do you want me to fix the shortbread?
DBG: No. They hired the retard, they can live with the retard consequences.
She laughs uproariously. Mild Mannered Dark Haired Girl giggles nervously and shoots me a look that says “Call the police.”
"Ooo," I think to myself. “'Retard Consequences'. That’s a good name for my band."
A few customers come in and I get back to work. In the next lull:
MMDHG: Hassi seems nice.
DBG: Hassi is a retard.
MMDHG: Oh. Well, I haven’t worked with him that often, so . . .
DBG: Did I tell you what he did the other day?
MMDHG: (cautiously) Noooo . . .
DBG: This lady came into buy some ground beans, right? And she’s all “Do you have any Christmas blend?” and he’s like [DBG imitates Hassi's accent saying “Christmas Blend?”] and then she asks if we have Emperor’s Blend instead and he opens EVERY DRAWER instead of just LOOKING AT THE LABEL ON THE FRONT OF THE DRAWER and then he tells her that we don’t have it, even though we TOTALLY do, in the back, so she asks for something else, which we totally have in one of the drawers and he’s all “Ooo, I don’t know, maybe we have some in the back!” and he leaves and she goes to me “Isn’t that it right there?” and it totally is . . .
It’s at this point in the story that I realize she is talking about me. I was the bean-buying lady the other day. Suddenly excited to be included in the drama, I strain to hear more over the roar of the steamer and, of course, the roar of the Gypsy Kings. Will she talk about how patient I was? Will she describe the slight eye-rolling I remember doing when Hassi went to the back for the third time because he forgot that I’d asked for? Will I come off as a righteously indignant customer or merely another pitiful victim of Michelle’s poor holiday hiring practices? As it turns out, none of the above.
DBG: Anyway, after, he left the BAG OUT. Just out on the counter! I’m like “Hassi, you have to put that away.” And he’s all [she imitates his accent again, saying “I forgot”]. GOD. Right? RIGHT? GOD.
MMDHG: Heh heh. Yeah.
Sigh. Clearly my brief part in the story was over. Also, someone with terrible b.o. sat down near me. Also, my time was up and I had to go. As I packed up my stuff, Hassi reported in for work. As I left, Mild Mannered Dark Haired Girl smiled at me again, as if to say “Seriously – I see you have a cellphone. CALL THE POLICE.” I felt a little sorry for her, trying to stay cute and mild mannered in the face of such disgruntled negativity. Maybe I’ll go back later and bring her some fudge. Or a gun.