The next morning at 10:30, the café was crowded with people from the office buildings nearby. Herb arrived first and got in line. The café staff consisted of young guys and girls who wore artistic-looking clothes and had various body piercings and tattoos. Herb guessed they were musicians or actors or artists of some kind, or just Austin slackers temporarily working to pay the bills. Original artwork and photos were displayed on the café walls. The pieces were for sale at what Herb considered to be rather steep prices. Occasionally he saw something he liked, but usually not.
The staff was mostly polite and helpful, but a particular girl—tall, tattooed and with jet-black dyed hair and always plenty of mid-section skin showing—seemed unfriendly and short-tempered. Not that Herb had seen her lose her temper. He merely judged from her curt demeanor that she probably could become angry easily, plus he’d never seen her smile.
She was one of the two people behind the counter taking orders when Herb reached the head of the line. Pen in hand, she looked up at him and raised her eyebrows.
“How’re you?” Herb said, wishing immediately that he hadn’t. He wondered fleetingly why he was trying to be friendly with this girl he didn’t like.
“Sir?” the girl said with a slight frown. Had she heard him and just pretended not to? People were standing in line behind Herb and also standing beside him waiting on their orders. Herb felt his face start to turn red.
“Uhhh,” Herb said, realizing it would be ridiculous to say ‘how are you’ again. “A large coffee and large Darjeeling tea…a pumpkin bread and a walnut-apricot scone.”
Before he could add “to go,” she said flatly, “We’re OUT of pumpkin bread.”
“Okaay,” Herb said as he glanced at the counter to see what was available. He was getting over his embarrassment. An idea occurred to him.
“Schnecken,” he said quickly and fairly quietly.
“I’m sorry?” the girl replied, with irritation evident in her voice.
“Schnecken,” said Herb, in the same quiet tone of voice.
The girl then said, in a loud, exasperated voice, “I can’t hear you!”
“A fucking schnecken!” Herb yelled back, defiantly.
Nearby conversations stopped. With her mouth open, the girl turned wordlessly toward a skinny guy with blond bangs who was taking an order from another customer. Before she could speak, the skinny guy looked at Herb and said nonchalantly, “We don’t carry schnecken, sir.”
Herb had figured that to be the case. “All right. Sorry,” he said in a normal, level tone. The girl looked back at him and as their eyes met Herb said quickly and coolly in his best teacher’s voice, “Cranberry bread then, and make the tea a hot tea, please, and it’s all to go.” The girl simply turned and began putting his order together.
Behind him and to his right, Herb heard someone say in a loud, disapproving whisper, “Typical passive-aggressive personality.”
Herb turned and saw Stan at the end of the line smiling his tight-lipped smile. Strands of his wispy blondish hair were standing up high above his head. He appeared to have just gotten out of bed. Herb erupted with a loud laugh at Stan’s comment and his disheveled look. It was a standard joke between them that they were both passive-aggressive types.
“Good morning to you, too,” Herb said. “If you can help me carry this food, I won’t yell at you.”
Stan stepped ahead of the people waiting in line, politely saying “excuse me” several times. As he stepped up to the counter beside Herb he said, “Where do you want to sit?”
“Let’s go up to the capitol grounds and find some shade,” said Herb. The tall girl behind the counter had finished getting their order together and ringing it up.
“Seven dollars and eighty-seven cents,” she said to Herb, in an even voice without emotion.
Herb said, “Okay,” and handed her a ten-dollar bill. Stan picked up his part of the order and began to walk behind Herb toward the door. As the girl handed back his change, Herb said to her, “I apologize for the angry words.”
“Apology accepted,” said the girl, looking at Herb and nodding her head slightly.
“Thank you,” Herb said, putting all the change in the tip jar.
“Thank you,” the girl said as Herb turned to follow Stan toward the door. “Have a good day.”
The staff was mostly polite and helpful, but a particular girl—tall, tattooed and with jet-black dyed hair and always plenty of mid-section skin showing—seemed unfriendly and short-tempered. Not that Herb had seen her lose her temper. He merely judged from her curt demeanor that she probably could become angry easily, plus he’d never seen her smile.
She was one of the two people behind the counter taking orders when Herb reached the head of the line. Pen in hand, she looked up at him and raised her eyebrows.
“How’re you?” Herb said, wishing immediately that he hadn’t. He wondered fleetingly why he was trying to be friendly with this girl he didn’t like.
“Sir?” the girl said with a slight frown. Had she heard him and just pretended not to? People were standing in line behind Herb and also standing beside him waiting on their orders. Herb felt his face start to turn red.
“Uhhh,” Herb said, realizing it would be ridiculous to say ‘how are you’ again. “A large coffee and large Darjeeling tea…a pumpkin bread and a walnut-apricot scone.”
Before he could add “to go,” she said flatly, “We’re OUT of pumpkin bread.”
“Okaay,” Herb said as he glanced at the counter to see what was available. He was getting over his embarrassment. An idea occurred to him.
“Schnecken,” he said quickly and fairly quietly.
“I’m sorry?” the girl replied, with irritation evident in her voice.
“Schnecken,” said Herb, in the same quiet tone of voice.
The girl then said, in a loud, exasperated voice, “I can’t hear you!”
“A fucking schnecken!” Herb yelled back, defiantly.
Nearby conversations stopped. With her mouth open, the girl turned wordlessly toward a skinny guy with blond bangs who was taking an order from another customer. Before she could speak, the skinny guy looked at Herb and said nonchalantly, “We don’t carry schnecken, sir.”
Herb had figured that to be the case. “All right. Sorry,” he said in a normal, level tone. The girl looked back at him and as their eyes met Herb said quickly and coolly in his best teacher’s voice, “Cranberry bread then, and make the tea a hot tea, please, and it’s all to go.” The girl simply turned and began putting his order together.
Behind him and to his right, Herb heard someone say in a loud, disapproving whisper, “Typical passive-aggressive personality.”
Herb turned and saw Stan at the end of the line smiling his tight-lipped smile. Strands of his wispy blondish hair were standing up high above his head. He appeared to have just gotten out of bed. Herb erupted with a loud laugh at Stan’s comment and his disheveled look. It was a standard joke between them that they were both passive-aggressive types.
“Good morning to you, too,” Herb said. “If you can help me carry this food, I won’t yell at you.”
Stan stepped ahead of the people waiting in line, politely saying “excuse me” several times. As he stepped up to the counter beside Herb he said, “Where do you want to sit?”
“Let’s go up to the capitol grounds and find some shade,” said Herb. The tall girl behind the counter had finished getting their order together and ringing it up.
“Seven dollars and eighty-seven cents,” she said to Herb, in an even voice without emotion.
Herb said, “Okay,” and handed her a ten-dollar bill. Stan picked up his part of the order and began to walk behind Herb toward the door. As the girl handed back his change, Herb said to her, “I apologize for the angry words.”
“Apology accepted,” said the girl, looking at Herb and nodding her head slightly.
“Thank you,” Herb said, putting all the change in the tip jar.
“Thank you,” the girl said as Herb turned to follow Stan toward the door. “Have a good day.”
