Glass of Water (part three)

I thought queuing up would be pointless. How could he suggest this!? Didn’t he know that on getting our food and paying for it we would have nowhere to sit and would be the laughing stock of the café?The shame of having food on ones tray, paid for, with nowhere to sit! Had he not heard of a public hanging?So I suggested we split up.

I could go hunting for a seat and he could get my food in the queue. This went unheard. “We will get a seat don’t worry”. Such a confident glass of water, he somehow prized me off the floor, and dragged me to the food counter.I looked to my left. I couldn’t even see the till and the queue was enormous. I looked around the café, then the queue, then outside the café to the pouring rain, then the queue, then the café, then the rain, queue café rain, queue, café, rain, queue, café, rain. “Can I help you sir”, I almost fainted.“Sorry” a tie dye blonde teenager person stood with an angry look on her face tossing scallops’.

I point to the mash “mash and margarita please”.It roles off my tongue, I’m no longer in control of what I am saying or doing. I am having an out of body experience. All I can think about is the humiliation that is awaiting me at the tills.Glass of water and I joined the queue awkwardly smiling at each other, at that moment I mortally despised him, the way that couples do after 20 years of marriage, but this was only our second date and it had only been 20 minutes!There was shouting, people rushing past us, a commotion. Another till had been opened. I was not fooled into leaving my queue and joining the other, weighing up quickly the pros and cons of such a move. Glass of water on the other hand had jumped queues and taken that risk. It had paid off as he was getting closer to the front.I could almost feel our table. Yes, yes.

Now more shouting was heard. “No hot drinks come to this till”. Everybody scrambled, glass of water was ruthless, he barged and pushed like a tiger in the jungle in a feeding frenzy. Hair and feathers were plucked, teeth were showing, shouting and squealing was heard. This boiled down to middle class English people giving dirty looks to each other and tutting.Who cared, he was near the front and closer to having a table. I was still in the queue for hot drinks. I had wanted to move queues with all the commotion, but my feet were firmly stuck to the floor. Queue changing doesn’t come easy for me at all, in fact it’s virtually impossible, and I was also determined to get a cappuccino to calm my nerves. The hot drinks line was the longest, and as I looked back it was the line full of most hate and anger.

I grew closer to the front of the queue, my blood pressure began to rise again, as I knew I would have to give the waiter my choice of hot drink and would have to speak in front of all these angry people. There was no doubt in mind they wanted my downfall; they were all just waiting for a moment like this for me to slip up.I could feel my body shake with nerves as I approached the front I started to rehearse my choice, “ill have a cappuccino please” “1 cappuccino please”, “cappuccino please”, “1 cappuccino pleases”.

I could feel my throat drying up my heart was in my mouth.“Order please”“One cappuccino now then please, if you please”I screeched, I sounded like a pre pubescent Chihuahua. I looked back at all the queue people sniggering and smirking, they had got what they wanted, lap it up I thought, lap it up!There! There!I spotted him; glass of water was out of the queue, what was he doing? Taking his time with condiments is what. My god, he should be searching for a table and seats. Instead he is wrestling with a small pack of mayonnaise and vinegar. How I hated him.What’s this! Yes, yes, he looks spirited, he’s seen something, he moves fast, he is out of my site. It has to be a table, just gotta be. My mood lightens. I will be able to enjoy my cold mash and margarita in peace. I go and pay at the till and look around. I can’t see him. He must be in some little nook around the corner, thank god.

I begin to enjoy myself at the relief of going to a table in a wonderful nook where I will be able to cast aspersions onto the rest of the clientele in peace.The next thing now was to find the condiments tray and cutlery, one thing at a time. I tried to stay calm. Ah! I saw it in the corner. Great, no worries there. I wonder over and peruse the selection of condiments, salts and peppers. I enjoy my time here now with the threat of no table shame. A thing of the past. I take what I need but there are no metal knifes and forks, only small plastic ones. This is of no real matter, I will cope! Everyone else is in the same boat after all. I take what I need and begin to walk with my tray to find my glass of water. I’m looking around, I can’t see him. Around the corner no sign, then suddenly he bounds around the corner.“Why aren’t you at the table?” I thought u had a tab?” I splutter.“No sorry, there isn’t anywhere“.I looked around, blood rushed to my head, everyone was starring at us, the entire café was just about to all burst out laughing because we had paid for our food and had no where to sit. I could hear it now.

It was coming.“Here “he said.“We will have to ask if we can sit at the end of their table”. What was he thinking, I felt like caviar in a burger. How could we sit here?! These people didn’t want us here which was very clear. We sat next to two rather large Spanish he-she with short cropped hair and stubble. Quite hard to distinguish their sexuality or gender.As I sat down I realised everything I said would be censored. I would speak, knowing that our not to distant neighbours would be ear wigging every word we were saying and judging me. I would have to answer questions to combat what I assumed they had judged about me. My accent became Joan Collins esque and I tried to reference Enid Blyton as often as I could.We relaxed very up tightly in to our meal, my cold mash all around the outside of my mouth as I blankly stared into my margarita pizza. Glass of water was complaining about the terrible service in here.