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

Conversations With Our Customers: Be Grateful

When you're feeling crabby and pissed off because work's a bitch, you don't have enough hours in the day and someone in your sphere has this really annoying habit that makes you grind your teeth... when you just don't get why things aren't nicer for you and why it wasn't you instead of that twat in the news that won the lottery... when you can't wait for the new year to begin because this year has been just about all you can take, be grateful.

A new customer walks into the cafe. I've seen her on the street before but this is the first time she has come inside. She wears big clompy boots and a light summer dress, looks kinda cool from a distance. She walks with a limp. She needs a cane to walk. She is not old. She is, perhaps, in the prime of her life, as they say.

Now that she is closer than just out on the street, I see that she has something terribly wrong with one eye. The lid is sealed over a bulging eyeball. Perhaps it was never an eyelid, more like an area of skin that just never developed into its promised function. I don't know why the eyeball looks so swollen. I don't know. I don't know anything.

She asks for a latte with one sugar. Her mouth, I notice now, sags at one corner, like she's had a stroke. Her voice is strange, uncontrolled. I have no idea why she is the way she is. Was she born without sight in one eye? Was this perhaps the reason she was involved in some accident that has left her with her limp and the need for a walking stick? I don't know. I do know that the problems I have with my eye seem suddenly trivial. And the stress because work has been busy... yeah right, what a fucking bitch that is.

I ask her which size coffee she'd like, and she says in that cracked, slightly spastic voice, "I'm sorry - I'm deaf."

I point at the paper cups. She points. I make her coffee, amazed at the stress levels the milk has been causing me (a thing called Lipolysis... it causes tiny, unsightly bubbles after the steaming process... it's sooooo fucking frustrating). Her money has been dumped with a shaking hand on the counter, and she takes her coffee and makes her way back out into what is really a spectacular, sunny day.

So yeah, if work's getting you down, be grateful.

A Basil Fawlty Conversation With Our Customers

As you may or may not know, we don't have table numbers in our cafe, we have a selection of animals. It's been a bit of a hit with the customers.

Today, serving a youngish couple, I gave the girl the walrus because it's kind of my favourite and he's a cute little thing. She went back to the table and the guy moved to the counter to place his order. I like to double check things to avoid misunderstanding, so I said to him, "Are you with the walrus?"

Accompanied with a nod of the head in the direction of the table his girlfriend was sitting down at. Or indeed, nodding at his actual girlfriend, depending an how you looked at it.

I was horrified because there was no guarantee that he had seen me give the girl the walrus.

Given that I couldn't unsay what I had just said, I said, "No I mean at the table with the walrus on it..."

The fuck did that mean? At the table with the walrus on it, not at it?

Fortunately my brain came to the rescue by commanding me to JUST STOP TALKING NOW!

Are you with the walrus. Nice one, Basil.

The Importance (or not) Of Pokelery

In Grumpy & The Dreaded One's Little Cafe Of Awesome, just yesterday, I watched a customer eat a bacon and egg roll with a knife and fork. Seriously - what is that all about? I wasn't going to kick him out or accuse him of being homosexual or British or anything, but really? Cutlery for a bacon & egg roll? Who does that?

I noticed that part of the way through the meal, he did away with the cutlery (or pokelery, as I like to call it - why should the knife have naming rights when it's the pokey fork that is most invaluable in these situations? You can poke with out the knife; you can't cut without the fork).

I assume that what happened part the way through the meal to cause this transition from the weird to the normal way of eating a bacon and egg roll, the guy's eating companion, who was eating his bacon and egg roll in the traditionally accepted manner, raised an eyebrow and asked him if he was homosexual or British or something. Like, you know, "What the fuck are you doing? It's a bacon and egg roll - who eats a bacon and egg roll with pokelery?"

Then today I watched a customer tuck in to a fresh chicken and salad sandwich... with pokelery! A knife and fork! Why? WHY?

Trusting The Vibe

A guy comes into the cafe and wants to pre-pay for his team of workers' lunch on his credit card. They are installing air conditioners in the apartments above the cafe. He wants to pay for seven coffees, seven sweet slice type things, seven burgers. I'm worried about the burgers being different prices and is there going to be money owed back, so I tell him lets settle the bill afterwards.

Later I wonder if this was a stupid thing to do, because I have no deposit, no security. The guys all come in and order stuff and it all adds up to quite a bit. And all the guy left me with was his business card with his contact details.

I call the guy to say we're closing at 4pm, can you come down and sort the bill please. He says no can do because I am back at the office. He gives me his credit card details instead.

All good.

Problem is, I can't do an over-the-phone credit card transaction. I don't know why until I go to the bank and explain the situation. They tell me that we can't do over-the-phone transactions until we've been operating for six months.

Pooh, I think, and wonder if I have been very stupid. I shouldn't have trusted the guy. I should have taken payment upfront.

I email the guy to ask for payment to be transferred into our bank account, wondering is this is going to get complicated.

Meantime, earlier, a guy comes into the cafe and says he'll give me five dollars if we break our rule about not handing out change for parking metres (this is the most loosely enforced rule ever... we are near a hospital and although it's really fucking annoying to give out change for parking meters, sometimes change for parking meters should not be a drama for the hospital visitors). I start  counting out the money, then give him his full amount back, saying I can't possibly do that do him, give him 15 out of 20 just so he gets some change. I can't do that. But he insists.

I put the five dollars in the tip jar, which unlike a lot of cafes, we share with our staff.

A guy walks in and wants something to eat. He only has six dollars. All we have left are our pre-made sandwiches which are $8.50. He turns to leave but hell, a guy just gave us a fiver for nothing, so I give the guy a cheap sandwich with the promise of him not telling anyone.

And just now I get an email from the air conditioner guy. Our transaction is based on nothing except goodwill. But the goodwill has been honoured.

Sometimes, you just gotta trust the vibe.

Are You Looking For Anyone?

Another traveller came into the cafe today looking for work. "Are you looking for anyone at the moment?" she asked in her adorable accent.

I came this close to telling her, "No, sorry, I'm in a long term relationship. But if I was looking for someone you'd be right at the top of the list, you fetching young minx you."

Remember Those Times.

Do you remember those times
Of dark hallways
Of late night bleariness
Of stumbling,
And daytime eyes
Wide and blind in the dark,
When we'd bump into each other
And stop
And hold each other
Naked
Exposed
Innocent
Tender and folded in each others arms
With time on hold
Just for now
Just for now
Skin against skin
Breath and late night whispers
Because this is what we do
This is what people do
When they are in love.

I remember those times.

This Is The End Of The working Week... Almost

The Oldest Budding Writer There Ever Was

Someone suggested that because I took an interest in a certain magazine they were dropping off in the cafe today that I must be "a budding writer".

Interesting assumption by her especially given my age. Kind of funny for me in that budding is entirely the wrong word. Yet I am not a successful writer. Or an established one.

I ermed a bit about the budding part, then she said "Oh you ARE a writer."

Was she being condescending. It was all a bit confusing.

As usual, I have no idea what the hell I am.

CATS!

This just made me giggle quite a lot. A lot. If you're a dog person, there is this.

Head's A Mess

Head's a mess.
Feeling tired.
Feeling drained.
Feeling excited.
Feeling blessed.
Happy at random moments.
In daytime sunshine.
Suicidal at 4:48am.
I'm aware.
I don't understand anything.
I want to sleep forever.
I want to be alone.
I want my friends.
Too far away.
I want to live forever.
I'm not good enough.
I missed another moment.

The end.

A Conversation Between Grumpy And Dorothea

I have to start answering the cafe telephone with "Grumpy & The Dreaded One's Little Cafe Of Awesome, this Grumpy speaking."

Because today I picked up and simply said "This is Lee speaking."

"Hello. This is Dorothea from the Women's Hospital."

St Vincents Hopital is nearby and we have a lot of  doctors, nurses, ambos and hospital admin people as customers, so this didn't seem odd. "Oh yes? Hello."

"I'm just calling to let you know that we have an ET scheduled for Monday."

Slight pause. Was Dorothea shortening this from ETA? For Estimated Time of Arrival? The ETA for a reserved table perhaps? Didn't seem likely as we had no tables reserved for Monday.

"An ET, you say?", I said, craftily stalling for time whilst trying to figure out what the hell Dorothea was talking about.

"Yes."

"For Monday?"

"That's right."

"Okay. Just one thing... what's an ET?"

Slight pause while Dorothea obviously tried to figure out why I wouldn't know what an ET is.

"An embroyo transfer," she explained, a tone that said isn't that really, really, really obvious?

"Ah. In that case I'm reasonably sure you have the wrong number. We're a new little cafe on Getrude Street."

"Ah. Oh. Okay. Sorry. Goodbye."

Conversations with Our Customers - The Bonzer Bloke Award

Firstly, to all the people arriving here after reading my quite old comment on another website about Suspended Coffee, that blog post is here. I'm not sure why my old comment is now so visible but it really is an old discussion, one that is apparently still taking place.

But to the above picture. A while ago in Grumpy & The Dreaded One's Little Cafe Of Awesome, a customer ordered a coffee and sat down at his table. He was very, very Australian. Nice old gentleman, just, you know, a bloody beaut type.

As I placed his coffee on the table he said, "Now the big question is, what's this plant?", nodding at the twig of New South Wales Christmas Bush we had placed in a bottle on most of the tables.

"It's New South Wales Christmas Bush," I told him.

"That's marvellous," he told me with what amounted to big blokey joy. "That's absolutely bloody marvellous!"

He then actually stood up and took my hand in a big blokey handshake.

Later he came over and we talked a bit about plants. He works at the Botannical Gardens in Cranbourne and is pretty obssessed with native plants. I am not obssessed with plants, so my plant anecdote this day consisted of me telling him about the Regrowth parties we sometimes go to, where hippie ravers spend the weekend regenerating depleted land by day and party by night. The idea of young(er) folk caring that much about native vegetation... I think his eyes moistened a little, in a big, blokey way.

Anyway, today I got a small parcel in the post. It's a collection of postcards taken at Cranbourne Gardens, taken by the big guy himself. Along with the postcards was this note. In case you can't make it out (it took me a couple of reads to get it), It says "Lee, here are some postcards for your Bonzer Bloke Award for displaying the NSW Christmas Bush..."

A Bonzer Bloke Award, eh? Fair dinkum. I'm not taking the piss when I say that I think it's bloody marvellous.