“I’ll have a full Irish and a coffee, please. Need to keep myself going,” Ian brings me back down to Earth.
“Sure, it won’t be long. And for you?” I ask the person next to him.
“Just a coffee.”
Is he joking?
“Pardon?” I ask, convinced I’ve misheard him.
He looks up, his gaze piercing.
“Just a coffee,” he says slowly, as if I were stupid.
“Are you sure? We have a big menu. We’ve got eggs, bacon, sausages, or if you prefer, we have pastries, scones…”
He looks at me for a few seconds as if he’s about to leap over the counter and wrap his hands around my neck. I shudder at his hard stare, and subconsciously take a step backwards, intimidated.
“Just leave it, Chris,” Ian interjects. “My brother isn’t a big fan of breakfast. But he’s a nice guy really.” He winds him up, elbowing him gently, while his brother doesn’t move a muscle.
I nod, turning away to make their order while they go over to the till to pay. I get the tray of drinks ready, and in a few minutes I’m heading to their table, where I find them intently reading the newspaper.
“Here you go,” I say, placing the plates and cups in front of them.
Ian looks up and smiles, thanking me, while the other doesn’t even shift his gaze or say thank you.
Perfect.
I really needed an arrogant prick to top off this horrible week.
I know I should just leave it, but my stubbornness and pride take over, so I lift my chin and say: “You’re welcome, no problem, it was my pleasure”.
He finally decides to look up, giving me the same piercing look as before, but without responding to my comment.
I turn on my heels and get back to work, my face red with rage and frustration: if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s rudeness – especially in my café.
Still, people like me. I’m kind, considerate and friendly. Everybody stops to chat with me.
I go back behind the counter, forcing a smile as I serve the customers, but every so often I look over at their table, where Ian is chatting animatedly to his brother, and his brother is responding in imperceptible head nods.
After almost an hour, they leave. Ian waves over to me from the doorway, while his brother makes his way outside without turning around.
I try to tell myself that it shouldn’t annoy me, it’s only ten in the morning and I still have a long day ahead of me. It means I’ll just have to drown my sorrows in that glass of wine I was talking about before, which has just doubled in size after that unpleasant encounter.
