One
Sunday, just after brunch and lunch had died down, I was working the floor on
my own. A man walked in. He had a look of Richard Thewlis with a wispy
moustache and thinning tousled hair. He came to the bar and asked for a latte
with milk and a piece of cheesecake. He had an odd manner. It’s hard to put my
finger on it but he was just a touch peculiar, nothing wrong with that. This
was Brixton and we were used to quirky characters in the bar, I positively
encouraged it. He went outside and sat at a table on the terrace. I took his drink
to where he was sitting and he was perfectly polite and lovely, so far, so
ordinary.
Another
couple walked in and asked if they could have lunch outside. They sat down at a
table next to our man, who by now was rocking gently back and fourth muttering
to himself and reading from a tiny book. The couple sat down, took menus, made drink
choices and I went back to the bar to busy myself making their drinks. By the
time I came out this guy was chatting to them. I noticed the book on the table.
It was the A to Z of Witchcraft. We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Wanting to
enjoy a quiet meal with a friend then some ever so slightly odd person wants to
chat. The customers, a father and daughter I had figured out, looked up as I
placed their drinks and asked if they could sit inside after all. I knew what
they really meant. ‘Please let us sit somewhere we won’t be forced into conversation
with someone reading the A to Z of Witchcraft and rocking quite forcibly now’.
Fair enough, I thought.
I gave
them a sympathetic look to show them I understood why they wanted to move. I
helped them with their drinks and walked them to a new table inside. As I
placed their things down I said, ‘I think he’s harmless, that guy, just one of
the funny characters you get around here.’ Expecting them to nod and agree, the
woman looked confused. I repeated myself only louder and now I was saying
things about how I know he is a bit odd and it’s fine to want to move tables, I
don’t blame them. Oh, I went on and on. Her eyebrows knitted further. The man
just waved his hand casually, telling me it’s fine. What’s fine?
“Dad,
did you hear what she just said?” I’m the one who’s confused now. The
atmosphere totally changed. This woman was mad at me. I was completely lost but
could sense I had done something really wrong. “That’s my brother!” She was
yelling a bit now. I wish I could tell you something clever about how I handled
it but honestly, I can’t remember past uttering an apology and pretending I was
needed in the kitchen. I went to the alleyway at the back of the bar and crouched
down, head in hands. How could I serve them now? I couldn’t stay hidden here.
Their lunch was almost ready and I was on my own apart from the Portuguese KP
and the part time chef. With still red cheeks I took their plates out and said
I hope you enjoy your meal. The Dad was the one to give me a sympathetic look
now. The daughter was still raging at him about how outrageous I was.
She was
right to be outraged. I was utterly appalled at myself, totally and utterly. I
still am when I think about it. Over time this has turned into one of those
stories friends request when we’re with someone new. “Go on, Helen, tell them
that story about the rocking man with the witch craft book”. So I do and it always
gets a good laugh but look under the table and you will see my toes curling as
I tell it. They didn’t leave a tip and I never did see them in Ah Bar again.
Funny that.
What not to do notes:
· Never make assumptions about your customers
· Never make assumptions about your customers
· Never make assumptions about your customers
· Never make assumptions about your customers
· Never make assumptions about your customers
· Never make assumptions about your customers
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