Thursday, 25 January 2007

Name, please

It first happened when I purchased a beverage at one of those coffee house chains. Apart from giving my order and relinquishing my moolah I also had to provide my name. I was taken aback but obedient, and waited in the queue for Ms Ann Thropy to be called out.

This trend for forced and false familiarity has now become customary when purchasing fare and beverages at most outlets in the ceebeedee.

And I do NOT like it.

No I do NOT.

NOT one little bit.

In keeping with my philosophy to carp and demean, and wail while I rail, the last couple of instances have been, hmmm, how should I describe it, somewhat fraught, a teeny bit mental, utterly self-involved and mildly undignified. Just another day of laughs and high kicks with the Mistress.

At a Mexican joint while placing an order, my name was requested. I asked why, and this unctuous buffoon expounded the forced and false familiarity manifesto. I suspect he had had anger and self-esteem issewes and had undergone all types of therapies to resolve them but to no avail, and consequently had only recently emerged from some vile week of Vipassna meditation in the Blue Mountains and landed this plum new job. So I gave the chump a chance and acquiesced. 10 minutes later I jumped out of my skin and yelped when he called out my name and I collected my burrito. My cheeks were burning as I stomped, no longer anonymously, past the neighbourhood centre and along Enmore Road.

The final straw was Monday at the healthy juicey extend your life loveyourliverbar. It was 7.15 am and a work day. So pets and lambs, cats and dudes, can we please just stick to the basics, no time for making new fwends . Please note that when i say basics i mean that when I place an order I always wait my turn, smile, look people in the eye, say hello and please, and pay.


Everybody wants a piece of me. Well no more, you hear, no more. There are some things I just want to keep to myself and be left unsaid. If I wanted that kind of familiarity in my life I would have changed my name to Candy .

"What’s your name?", enquired the young woman. I replied that I didn’t want to give my name. Serveuse was a bit taken aback and raising her sulkiness to my petulance, instructed me to just make one up. I suggested that she just call out the name of the drink and I’d collect it. She explained that they liked to use names as it gets busy. I said, "well there’s only you and me, and that other customer I am sure we won’t get confused. " She grunted, processed my order, no doubt instructing juicer guy to piss in my drink, then went and served the next person.. Once the fruit juice was ready she slammed it on the counter without any announcement. I placed digit to bottom lip, popped my eyes, placed right hand on chest's centre and exclaimed "ooh is that mine" and jauntily collected the drink from the counter.

Oh I know; they’re only trying to make a living and I’m only trying to make it that little bit harder.

1 comment:

FJG said...

I am with you on this one Lady. Not yet in Bendi.