Conversations With Our Customers: The Dropped Spoon

The customer was an imposing figure to say the least. One of those very large but shapely bodies, low cut top oozing the purest essence of buxom. Dark clothes. Bare skin a gallery of expensive tattoos. Her face? Strong and pretty at the same time. She ordered a large, strong latte, but with a spoonful of honey.

She sat outside. I made her coffee and took it out to her. Placing the cup on the table, I somehow managed to knock the spoon from the saucer onto the footpath. We both reached for it at the same time. She got to it first.

"Sorry. I'll get you another one.

"No it's okay. That's fine. This one is fine."

"That's silly. I'll get you a clean one."

"Really, don't bother - I like it like that."

"Like what? Like it's been on the footpath?"

"That's right... I like it dirty."

Grumpy's internal voice goes erm doo doo doo erm for about three hours.

"Seriously, I'll get you a clean one."

"Seriously, if you do that... I'll get angry."

"Angry? And what happens when you get angry. You gonna spank me or somethi..."

Her reply? A single, slowly arched eyebrow.

I got the hell out of Dodge before I got in over my head.

Conversations With Our Customers: The Mess, The Sequel

Conversations With Our Customers: The Mess, The Sequel.
Little Old Lady (as Grumpy clears her table): Sorry about the mess.
Grumpy: That's okay. Don't worry about it.
Little Old Lady: Yes, I've been here before and I made mess that time and you said don't worry about it, so I've come back again to make another mess.
Chapeau, Little Old Lady, you wrinkly cheeky you.

Not So Common

A few weeks ago at one of our favourite Sunday lunch destinations, The Dreaded One and I found ourselves talking to the owner, a lovely person by the name of Jo. We first encountered Jo a couple of years ago, soon after we moved into the area and wandered by the restaurant and peered through the window. The restaurant appeared to be closed, so we kept walking. Jo had seen us peering inside and came running out onto the street.

"Come back! We're open!"

We went back. Have been going back ever since. We love this place.

Since then, we've opened our cafe, Grumpy & The Dreaded One's Little Cafe Of Awesome. Steep learning curve, lots of hard work. Just the way we like it.

On this day, we told Jo about our previous Saturday, when our Saturday helper phoned in unwell and it was just down to The Dreaded One and me to go it alone again. Naturally, we got slammed.

Jo listened to all of this. Bear in mind here that this is a good restaurant. It's whole other levels above our humble operation. But when we finished talking about what a hard day it had been, Jo said wait here, hang on a second. She disappeared and returned with her business card. She scribbled her name and personal phone number on it and said that on Saturday mornings, she's available to work and to just call her if we need help doing whatever.

I could tell, she meant it. What a gorgeous, wonderful offer. We would never take her up, of course, but that she made the offer and meant it... wow.

Then today, Jo pops into the cafe. As well as running her wonderful restaurant, she supplies other restaurants with wild mushrooms. She was delivering some to the nearby legendary Cutler & Co and dropped a few off to us as a gift.

And again said that the offer to help out still stood.

Some humans are just so amazing. They make you take a good look at yourself and make you want to be a better person.

Our First Critic Didn't Hate Us... Hoorah!

Here is a link to our first, anonymous serious review, from Brian Ward at Fitzroyalty. We haven't invited reviewers in, and quite frankly I don't want to know when they are in the cafe because it would make me nervous. I can happily crank out the coffee all day long but if friends come in, I suddenly sweat it about whether the coffee is going to be good enough or not. So reviewers? They are welcome, of course, and with the internet everyone is a potential reviewer anyway, but I don't really want to know when they are in.

I think we got off okay with this review. It's not exactly a glowing endorsement, but I think it's fair. This guy can be pretty harsh. We're just us, doing our thing. The Dreaded One is doing an amazing job, so much more than just cooking. And although the reviewer said he enjoyed his "Corn Critters", The Dreaded One has taken note and aims to add a little something to lift them a little. Constructive criticism, it's a good thing. Decent is okay but we can aim a little higher. We're a work in progress in so many ways.

The reviewer mentioned us again here. Again, this is good, we just have to work on how to make the coffee better than just good. Probably by getting an actual barista in. For now, though, I just need to lift my game.

New outdoor furniture is happening very shortly. Plans are underway for a new fit-out for the service area, website is being built as we speak... it's all very exciting.

The Speechmaker by Working Dog, Review

Here is a link to my review of Working Dog's first venture into theatre, The Speechmaker. It was good without being brilliant and will no doubt do well.

Conversations With Our Customers: The Avocado

A couple of Asian girls walk into the cafe. They look at the menu board for a while and speak to each other in their native language before one steps forward to do the foreign communication thing.

"Er... please, can we have one latte, and... mmm an avocado."

"A latte and an avocado. Okay. How do you want the avocado?"

"Sorry?"

"Would you like us to do anything to it."

She just frowns at this, like I'm some kind of weirdo. I'm just trying to help this be easier for all of us because quite frankly, we don't get many people coming in and requesting vegetables... or fruit, if that's in fact what an avocado is. Then again, dietary requirements these days being what they are, little surprises me.

"Do you want some lemon juice or vinegar with it?" I soldier on. On the odd occasion I have avocado, that's how I have it, with a little bit of malt vinegar.

The girl pulls a face like she just swallowed a mouthful of lemon juice. "What?"

"Okay," I say, hands raised in acceptance, "fine - just a plain avocado. Do you at least want a spoon with it?"

"Yes please. Spoon."

I go and prepare the avocado. I cut it in half, take the stone out, put the two halves in a small bowl and put a spoon in the bowl. I make the other girl's latte and take this rather odd little order out to these rather odd customers and put them on the table.

"Scyoo me, but what in the hell is this?" Asked with that same lemon-face expression.

Deep breath. "You asked for an avocado, so I'm giving you an avocado."

"Not avocado, AVOCADO!"

I try out her lemon-face expression to see if that helps the situation as I wonder what in the name of Basil Fawlty is wrong with this woman.

Then I realise. "Oh. Ooooohhhh. You want a latte and an affogato."

"That's what I said - a latte and an avocado!"

Just Loved American Beauty All Over Again

Lester Burnham: [narrating] I had always heard your entire life flashes in front of your eyes the second before you die. First of all, that one second isn't a second at all, it stretches on forever, like an ocean of time... For me, it was lying on my back at Boy Scout camp, watching falling stars... And yellow leaves, from the maple trees, that lined our street... Or my grandmother's hands, and the way her skin seemed like paper... And the first time I saw my cousin Tony's brand new Firebird... And Janie... And Janie... And... Carolyn. I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me... but it's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life... You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry... you will someday.

Humiliation

Hate it when the police have you spread against the car & they pat you down & find one of those gay paper cocktail umbrellas on your person.

Following Ruben Jane On Your Friends House

A story of mine, Following Ruben Jane, that has never really been published before. Friends might have read it, but now strangers are reading it, thanks to Your Friends House. It's nice to have stories out there that I had just given up on ever being read.

Photo credit: Luciana.

Sales Reps... My Favourite People

I'm pretty good at just hanging up on telephone salespeople these days. Discount coupon schemers, energy consultants, they are all pretty annoying. I'm rarely rude to them because they are just a person doing something they are paid to do, but I am short and to the point with them. I do get a bit rude if they call back, or if they call during service. It's a cafe - here's a clue, don't call at lunch time.

Got a guy the other day who came into the cafe during a busy lunch. I thought he was a customer because he was waiting in line with the other customers. When I asked him what I could do for him, he presented his business card and told me that he represented a food supply company and he would like to supply our cafe.

I was pretty stunned. I mean, other sales reps, if they happen to come when it's busy, they wait at the side. You generally see them and when there's a gap you make contact.

But this guy waited in line, customers in front and behind. He did his introduction and brief sales pitch. I thanked him and said that we are very happy with our current suppliers. He didn't budge. He looked a bit affronted that I wasn't going to drop everything, sack our current suppliers and welcome him on board.

I repeated that we are very happy with our current suppliers but I'd keep his card if anything changed. He stayed there and asked who our current suppliers were, like he was perfectly entitled to engage in a bit of sales faff right there and then. I had to point out that he was standing in front of customers, that I wanted to serve my customers. He looked momentarily pissed off, stood to the side like he was going to wait and have another go before deciding that instead, he would leave.

Most stunning bit of amateurish sales repping I think I have ever seen. Quite brilliant in its awfulness.

On Being An Introvert

This is an interesting read from Sarah Wilson. I sometimes totally don't get why I am the way I am. Why sometimes I can't bear to be around fun people, why at other times I love being around them. (I'm content with my dislike of obnoxious, attention-seeking types). Why I so desperately need to be alone sometimes, as much as the times I need the right company. Or why I've always been so utterly shit at small talk.

The Dying

When he looked back, he could see a point where he lost interest in those who were perceived as being close to him, their love a clumsy misunderstanding. He withdrew and withdrew, and eventually they were distant. Even more distant than the ones who had not been close.

He retreated further and they grew more distant until finally he was alone, just the memory of them to keep him company.

And when he looked back, he could see a point where he lost interest even in the memory of them, and from this vantage point he wondered who they were.

And some great long time after this, he could not see them at all, could not recollect them, could not smile or shed tears at the memory of them. Had any of it been real?

He wondered if he had been part of them. One of them. But now, in not knowing who or what they were, he wondered about his own nature.

And when he looked back, he could see a point when he lost interest in himself and trying to understand any of it. He could feel himself fading into an unforgiving, infinite distance, and eventually... he simply ceased to be.

Love & Farts

I think the word should be "possibly", not "probably". Some of my most memorable farts have been forced ones, ones where I have sweated with the thought that this could well result in pants full of poo but taken that risk anyway. It's all about living outside your comfort zone, because that's where the magic happens.

Live it up, I say, and force that fart. You never know - it could be the best fart you have all year.

SeriousLee

Just reading a feature inThe Age about comedian Jennifer Saunders on the launch of her biography Bonkers: My Life In Laughs (which sounds like a bloody good read). In one part it says, 'Yet Saunders was a serious-looking child, enduring the well-meaning advice of adults to cheer up. "The thing that's absolutely guaranteed to make you miserable is someone saying cheer up! There's nothing worse. You can't help it. I have a face that looks serious if I'm not smiling."

Man, do I know where she's coming from. As a younger person I used to get that a lot. Cheer up - you look like your best friend just died! Or, cheer up - it can't be that bad!

I don't get it so much now, although I suspect that that's because my older serious-looking face can look a bit intimidating. During a Late Night Talk About Absolutely Everything I had a friend confide that "You do look a bit scary. I wouldn't fuck with you."

I hadn't thought about all of this until recently when chatting with a customer, and she said quickly and in passing, "Yes well the others all say but you're a bit serious and I said no he's just focused."

She quickly moved on but I was left wondering who the others were and what else they might have said about me. And bugger it if I didn't feel a bit annoyed. I wanted to tell them that when on the job, yeah, I guess I am serious and the customer was right, I am trying to focus. Customers constantly walk up to the counter and assume that if they've given you their order it's going to be the next coffee you make without realising that all those people seated at tables they've walked by? They are all expecting their orders too, and the couple sitting over at that table are also waiting for take-aways. I need to get all the orders right and roughly in the right order, and sometimes I get irrationally annoyed with how particular everyone is about which milk they want, how strong or weak or extra hot or how many sugars or fucking decaf - if you don't want coffee don't have coffee because that decaf grinder is slow and messy and...

Sometimes, you gotta concentrate. I try not to let any of these internal monologues manifest themselves physically. Often I hum or whistle to the music to maintain calmness, especially when it's busy. It's just not in my nature to smile with no reason. I can't help it if I have a naturally serious-looking face.

At another cafe I used to work at, the owner told me he was really very pleased with the work I did but could I please, please smile more. I told him I can't, I'm not the kind of person who can just wander around smiling for no apparent reason. (He later gave me a pay rise and said don't bother about the smiling thing).

Same still goes. I'm not a big smiler. I'm not a big laugher, either. Which is ironic given how much I like comedy, and how my favourite thing in the world is to make people laugh. I'm Grumpy, and I like to write silly shit.

As The Dreaded One pointed out, I've pre-empted any accusation of being overly serious in the name of the cafe. It's not called Oh-So-Happy & The Dreaded One's Little Cafe Of Awesome, is it. It's not called Cheerful & The Dreaded One's or Fluffy & The Dreaded One's.

Still, for the hell of it, as an experiment, I might try smiling more this week just to see what happens. It will probably just make everyone think I'm up to something. "Ooh - Grumpy's smiling a lot more all of a sudden - he must be on the drugs."

Perhaps I'll have to introduce my smiling to the world gradually. Occasional shy smirks at first and gradually ramp it up to friendly chuckles, then open laughter until they don't bat an eyelid when I double over, point at them and piss myself hysterically as soon as they enter the cafe.

Maybe I'm just not cut out for this.

Beginnings Of Unfinished Stories

The idea was that they would borrow the words from each other's stories. But first, they had to write their stories.

Conversations With Our Customers: The Seven Second Rule

Some of our Argentinian Shortbread & dolce de leche biscuits had crumbled under the weight of being the best biscuit on Gertrude Street, so we broke them up and offered them as samples to our customers, putting them in a little bowl on the service counter.

A customer asked what the samples are.

Grumpy: "They are broken fragments of our Argentinian shortbread filled with dolce de leche. Please, help yourself."

Customer noms in. Offers broken fragments to her friends.

As as they all start to eat and make phwoar noises...

Grumpy: "Yeah -  they all fell on the floor and broke into pieces, but rather than waste them we swept them up and thought we'd share them with our customers."

Conversations with our customers: The babyccino

A father, a big, gentle creative type with tattoos and piercings, and his son walk into the cafe. The father orders a long black and a babyccino. They sit down. I make the coffee and the babyccino and take them out to the table where the litle boy is having a conversation with their Table Identification Unit, the dinosaur. I frown in thought as I hesitate putting the drinks on the table.

"So who's having the long black and who's having the babyccino?"

The little boy doesn't get it; the dinosaur is far more interesting. But the father, he giggles like a little boy.

Creative Couplings.

I have the most amazing life partner. She is the only one. I have amazing friends.

But I think in this life I missed my creative partner.

Maybe next time.

Conversations With Our Customers: Merle Thornton.

Merle Thornton is a regular customer. Months ago, shortly after we opened the cafe, she and her husband came knocking on our doorjust after we had closed for the day, wanting to come in for cold milkshakes. It was hot that day. I wanted to go home. I'm a bit appalled with myself for even thinking about not letting them in because I wanted to go home.

I said come in, of course come in. It was hot out there and we had the air-con on. Of course they should come in.

The husband, Neil, he's not well. Merle, she has a glint in her eye. You can see it in this photo. They come in for their milkshakes almost every day. Neil is extremely unwell, but this is how Merle looks most of the time.

Google Merle Thornton. I was going to give you a link, but fuck it. Do your homework.

And don't diss the old folk.

Lols In Grumpy & The Dreaded One's Little Cafe Of Awesome

I get mixed reactions when people read my old Grumpy columns in the cafe... and yes I usually disecreetly watch when I see that someone has flipped to the back of the menu and is reading. Sometimes there's just a kind of blankness about the reader, which makes me want to not be there because apparently they think whoever wrote this dribble must be an idiot. The most common reaction is smirking with an occasional chuckle. Sometimes couples will read together, and when The Dreaded One Takes their meals out, they whisper to each other and nod in her direction - that must be The Dreaded One. The other day a guy smirked his way through one column, then when he came over to the counter to pay his bill he grinned a bit more and said "Cheers, Grumpy, I'd like to pay my bill."

Recently, however, I had one of the better reactions, a real life lol. I looked over and someone was really enjoying my story about the time I was too busy being on the Amalfi Coast to make it to anything. It made me smile because, well, it was nice.

Turns out the person lolling is a touring UK performer, in town for The Melbourne International Comedy Festival. She and her partner were staying at nearby apartments and they were drawn to the cafe because of the name. Apparently a certain John Fleming had said that she uses the word awesome an awfully lot, and so she was compelled to come in.

I don't know how many other cafe owners on Gertrude Street are also performing arts writers and reviewers, but this one certainly is, so this was all a lovely bit of chance encountering.

Especially as I enjoyed the show very much, my Australian Stage review being here. And I've enjoyed seeing these people in the cafe almost every day that they have been here so far. They are lovely, lovely people.

Here is a link to the story of Juliette Burton discovering Grumpy & The Dreaded One's Little Cafe Of Awesome as it appears on John Fleming's blog. I sincerely hope that by linking to his blog, which is linked to my blog, we haven't damned some poor souls to being sucked into the eternity of a link loop.

When I Grow Up is on at Trades Hall Meeting Room, 54 Victoria Street, Carlton, 7pm daily (not playing Mondays) and 6pm Sundays. Season ends April 20. Bookings at comedyfestival.com.au or on 1 300 660 013