I’ll have what she’s having

It’s an easy choice: Korean beef and cheese toastie. And a flat white, the way I like it: half normal milk, half oat milk. The woman behind the counter looks terrified. I might as well have asked for a cup of her menstrual blood. She turns around to her colleagues, a look on her face that says: can we do this? Is it possible? I talk her through it. “You can just fill up the coffee with regular milk and leave space at the top for some oat milk?” She nods, relieved. I go and sit down at the table with my friend.

“Did you get your spoon?”, she asks me.

“What spoon?”

Then I see what she means. In front of her is a wooden spoon with a number on it for when they bring out your food. Hers is number 21.

“I think she gave me one but I left it at the counter”, I reply.

The woman approaches with my coffee. “I made the dairy milk hot but poured in cold oat milk, is that ok?”

No, I think. No, that isn’t ok. I try some. Unsurprisingly, it’s tepid.

“It is a bit on the cold side”, I smile, in an attempt to soften the complaining vibe. “Would you mind maybe adding a bit of hot milk to it, please?”

“Of course not”. She picks up the cup and goes.

“She hates you”, says my friend.

“I know”, I reply.

“There’s a hot guy over there”, she says. I turn to look. “But he’s probably a student.”

“Go and talk to him”, I say, pointlessly, as if we’re in a Rob Reiner film.

“He’s about 22”.

“No he isn’t - he’s at least 35.” We both know this is the definition of moot. He could be 55 or 19 - there’s no way she’s going to approach a random guy eating a sandwich and minding his own business. 

“He’s probably got a girlfriend anyway. Or a wife.”

“I dunno. He looks single.”

“How can someone look single?”

Our toasties arrive. Another woman follows behind, carrying a tray of drinks. “Did you order five coffees?”

The two of us, sitting at our table for two, look up at her.

“No?”, I say, trying not to sound incredulous.

I take a bite of my toastie. It’s good. Really good. Crisp and buttery on the outside with a melted cheese and pulled beef filling. My friend bites into hers. Then she opens it and looks inside.

“I don't think there's any cheese in this.”

“Isn’t it meant to be cheese and kimchi?”

“Yes.”

“Well, take it back and tell them.”

“Nah, I can’t be arsed – you know I don't like to complain.”

Original coffee woman is back with my coffee.

“I hope that’s ok”, she says.

“I’m sure it is, thanks”. I take a sip. It’s still tepid, but I draw the line at asking a third time. It feels like all this faffing has gone on for too long. Finally, we can actually talk without interruption. I have my disappointing coffee and delicious toastie, she has her adequate coffee and cheeseless toastie; we’re ready. 

“Hang on”, she says “Did you get the sandwich, drink and cake deal?” 

‘I don’t know”, I reply, sensing fresh hell.

“Well you got a sandwich and drink and we’re gonna get cake after, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then we should have got the deal – it’s much cheaper. Go and tell the woman.”

Not the woman. Anything but the woman. I get up and go to the counter. The woman smiles. I explain that we’d like cake but didn’t ask for the deal. We’ve paid the same amount as the deal anyway, so can we just say we want the deal and get the cake? She looks at me as if I’ve just given her a lecture on string theory. 

“Ok”, she says, after about a million years. “So, I’ll give you two cakes and then I’ll get my manager to sort out the refund.”

“No”, I say. “I don't need a refund, just the cakes.”

“I’m a bit confused”, she says.

I explain the situation again.

“Right, I think I get it.”

The cakes look amazing. I settle on a brownie and a Victoria sponge. For some reason, she puts them in bags instead of on plates. I return to the table.

“Why are they in bags?”

“I don’t know. But I’m not going back. Let’s just rip the bags open and use them as plates.”

My friend starts telling me about an upcoming job interview, about how much she wants the job –

“Two beef and cheese toasties?” We look up at the woman, both of us holding our toasties.

“No, we’ve already got ours.”

“Oh right.” She goes.

“That spoon system’s not really working out for them, is it?”

“Oh, hot guy’s leaving.”

I turn to look. He opens the door, pulls up his hood, and steps out into the rain.

“You should have spoken to him. Now you’re gonna have to spend the rest of your life knowing that someone else is married to your husband.”

“Yeah babes, all my husbands are married to someone else.”

“Three hot chocolates?” Original coffee woman is back. I want to scream: Why on earth would we be ordering three hot chocolates when there are only two of us and we already have coffees?

Instead I smile and say “No, not ours.” She goes. “Shall we just go and eat the cakes on a bench?”

“It’s raining.”

“Let’s just sit in the car then.”

“Sure. Anything to get away from the non-counting crows.” We laugh as we walk to the door. Outside the sky is dark and the rain is heavy. We pull up our hoods.

“I’m so glad you parked just outside.”

“Me too, bae. Me too.”