I heard Diane say something something…”Tasha”… and I whipped around from the coffee brewers and said, “Tasha?! Tasha’s here?” She was hidden from view behind the pastry case. I hadn’t seen her all week, and was starting to get a little worried. I said, “WHERE have you been??”
She wears a brown knitted hat with FUCK CANCER across it in pink stitching, and she is one of my two very very favorite customers. I am 90% certain that she herself has/had cancer but she has never mentioned it.
We chatted a bit and then she came over to the bar while i made drinks.
I started telling her about a woman (miserable wretch ahem) who had come in the day before and accused me of ruining her day because we weren’t serving Verona as our morning pick this week, but Ethiopian. Blah blah blah, nast nast nast, and then she stormed out.
Tasha was shaking her head with a serious look and said, “Sometimes I wish just one bad thing would happen to people like that.” “I know,” I said. And at the same time we said grimly, “They need some perspective…”
nat just set a plate down in front of me with the most delicious looking pepper jack grilled cheese sandwich on oatmeal bread, with the ketchup bottle and pepper grinder next to it.
you know i want to take a picture of it.
i wonder if i’m missing a calling here, with all the photos i have of our meals…. it has to be in the hundreds by now.
i’m just going to eat it.