A Random Customer Says Nice Things

A new review of the cafe is up on Urbanspoon. We read this at the end of a hard day, and it made all the hard work worthwhile.

New members of Team Awesome are on board now.

A Fucking Post About A Stuck Fucking Key. Fucking Fuck Etc.

Under-staffed, blackout just as lunch service starts, and just to finish off the day, this. Fucking key gets stuck in the fucking fire escape door.  I have honestly never encountered a more stuck thing in my life than this fucking key. It's, like, fucking STUCK!

Still, first world problems. Everything's peachy. It's all fucking peachy.

Conversations With Our Customers: That Time Warren Ellis Came Into The Cafe

So there was this time I was having a chat with Warren Ellis in Grumpy & The Dreaded One's Little Cafe Of Awesome and...well that's all, really.

Game Of Thrones With Fluffiness and Cameron Diaz.

"The pizza appears to be late."

Okay. So I really quite like Game Of Thrones. I like the adventure. I like the rousing stories and the larger than life characters. I reeeeally like the costumes. I like how they make you get attached to really good and noble characters who eventually get it in the neck because another less noble character wants to put sharp things in someone's neck because it advances their cause. This is, after all, the nature of life, no?

But really. Enough. Last night's episode was just too much. So much stabbing and throat slitting and being shot by arrows... I was quite traumatised by it all. I really liked those people, and seeing their hearts being broken and ripped out of their chests and the resulting mess of all of those sensational costumes... it was horrible.

So tomorrow night, no Game Of Thrones. It's gonna be romcom city, in the abode of Grumpy & The Dreaded One. Something with Cameron Diaz, perhaps. I still have fantasies about that dance Cameron Diaz did in those fluffy slippers in one of the Charlie's Angel's movies. Soooo yum.

There will definitely be tracky pants and snuggly blankets.

There will be a warm heater and snuggles on the couch.

And giggles.

Fluffiness and cuddles. I might even wear fluffy slippers and dance along to that scene in Charlie's Angels.

But if the pizza guy is late with his delivery and interrupts my Cameron Diaz movie, he will get it in the throat with an arrow fired from my crossbow with the cavalier precision you would expect from a battlefield warrior such as myself.

The insolent fucker.

Feeling The Love. Cafe, Work and Friends.

I bitched and moaned about having to do cafe stuff this weekend (our third weekend of not doing six day weeks for the past eight months), but bloody hell, what a lovely weekend it turned out to be.

The Dreaded One and I had to stay back on Friday after a busy day to move all the furniture and paint the floor with primer for our handyman guy to paint over the next day. Handyman didn't show on Saturday, so we painted the floor ourselves. We also bought this cool old chopping block to put the cash register on because the thing the cash registster had been on, courtesy of the previous cafe owners, was the most imbecilic piece of junk I have ever seen. Words fail me. I don't know what they were thinking. I'd post a photo of this hateful piece of shit except that I destroyed it Thor-like with a hammer after it fell over for the thousandth time on Saturday. The only thing fucktardier than making this shitful, poorly designed piece of demon poo was the fact that we put up with it for so long. What were we thinking?

Anyway. Now we have a neat, retro looking chopping block/cabinet thing THAT DOESN'T KEEP FALLING THE FUCK OVER, some very cool new art on the walls courtesy of photographer friend Steve Willis, some wonderfully whimsical little terrariums on the tables courtesy of writer friend Laura Brinson, and some nice looking outdoor furniture. I think we've gotten through the settling in period and can now start putting a bit more love into the cafe.

After painting the floor on Saturday we also managed to have friends over for dinner on Saturday night for the first time in ages. Cheese fondue and lamb shank tagine, LOTS of wine and fun conversation and laughs.

When I have such quality people over in my home - a place I usually need to spend time in in solitude - I'm content to sit back and soak in these people enjoying each other's company. They were noisy in the most wonderful way, and I loved it.

Today, Sunday, we installed the retro chopping block thing and got the cafe ready for tomorrow, then had lunch at The Fox.

Grumpy is happy.

Conversations With Our Customers: The Soup, It's Good.

Sweeping through the cafe, I saw a table that needed to be cleared. The couple had finished eating and were talking, I told them I'd clear the plate and soup bowl away. I picked up the lady's plate and started to slide the guy's soup bowl on its wooden board to the edge of the table so that I could pick it up. But it seemed to be stuck to the table. It wasn't budging.

Grumpy [internal monologue]: What the hell is going on here? It's like this board is stuck to the table or something. It's almost like the guy is holding onto it from the other end or something. It's really confusing and the longer it goes on the more embarrassing it's getting. It feels like I've been trying to pick the thing up for ages. I must look like such a useless twat.

Customer: It's very good lamb, vegetable and lentil soup. Do you mind if I finish it?

I then see that the customer has indeed been holding on to the other end of the board. There are still a couple of spoonfuls of soup left.

Grumpy: Oh my God I'm so sorry. How embarrassing. Of course. Take your time. No rush. What a twat. Not you - me. Me twat.

Customer, smirking: It's okay. Tell the chef it really is very good soup.

Your Dream Menage A Trois

Dead chicks I'd have a threesome with: Dora Maar, Gertrude Bell, and Amelia Earhart. (I booked in an extra in case one of the others couldn't make it).

These people are amazing women.

If two of them got jealous, I'd probably stay faithful to Dora Maar. Picasso wasn't worthy.

But then,she was soooo blindly in love with him that she probably wouldn't see that he was unworthy because he was so great and so famous with his paint and art and yadyada, and I'm just me with my nothing and more nothing and my Australian accent which totally sucks compared to even the worst European accent, let alone the Spanish and Italian ones which are just crazy hot. So Dora probably wouldn't even glance at me. Probably wouldn't know I existed, if we existed at the same time.

Good thing I made arrangements with Gertrude and Amelia.

Have you ever thought about your dream menage a trois with dead people?

Why In The Hell Has There Never Been A Movie Made About Gertrude Bell?

Everyone knows about Lawrence Of Arabia, but who knows about Gertrude Bell? I didn't, until now. What an extraordinary woman. Why the hell has no one ever made a movie about her?

Although in just trying to answer this question, it seems Ridley Scott might be on the case. 'Bout bloody time.

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.