Just Like Going Home
We had an overload of Americans at the cafe today.
Usually I can spot my sporadic own via the American Eagle sweaters invariably worn by the men (seriously, they leave the country and it’s 1997 all over again with the one horizontal stripe running across cotton crewnecks). Sometimes it’s traveling couples, identified by their Columbia jackets and floppy baseball hat on the man. Sometimes, however, there’s just this certain je ne sais quoi…
It’s rudeness.
I generally like to give tables a couple minutes to check out the menu and get settled before I jump all over them, which is why I was surprised to be presented with the ‘come here’ finger within a minute of 28’s arrival. There was wagging; I was annoyed.
“Ia’ll have a glasss of yoeur house whiete”, the woman at 28 brayed.
The accent screamed southern Midwestern, likely Ohio - my least favorite of the US states. I took the order from her Aussie companion and left, noting two youngish girls had sat at 24.
I went over to pour 28’s wine and complain to Jan, the most regular of our regulars. He glanced over his shoulder at the mirrors that line the walls of the cafe, and somehow managed to identify her from about 20′ away and around two corners. He has a mystifying understanding of the cafe’s mirror-based geometry beyond that of any of the staff.
“She’s kind of young for that,” he replied. Even for an American, he left unsaid.
Off to 24 I went, where one of the two teens was American. She was African-American, which, given a nearly St. Paulian lack of people of color at MelbUni, always makes me want to shout, “Are you also freaked out by the alarming lack of black people?”
I restrained myself, and, after disseminating our list of hot drinks, present also on the menu just over my right shoulder (”So, does that include coffees?”), left them to their important work of deciding what the hell they wanted. Returning several minutes later - after hearing 28 say, “I told her to keep it on the downlow” - we got down to business.
“So, have we come to any conclusions?”
“Yeah. I’ll have one of those lemon soda things and she’s going to have the soup,” she said, pointing to her friend.
“Cool. So, no food for you and no drink for you?” I replied, indicating appropriately.
“No,” she said with the voice of one speaking to the irredeemably slow, “I’m having the drink, she’s having the food.”
“…Yes.”
“I’m paying for her lunch,” she said both prematurely and unnecessarily. She turned to her friend, “I owe you lunch because of that thing.”
Armed with that bit of knowledge, I walked back to Jan to continue my growling. He turned and identified them, again defying the laws of physics. (I’m quietly alarmed that he has set up some sort of panopticon we don’t know about yet.)
“Wow. It transcends race,” he said calmly.
Which is something. Dr. King said he wanted his children to be judged on the content of their character.
Mission accomplished. We all suck.
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