Triggers: The Cafe

“Can you wait for the sandwiches, while I stay with the dog?”

“OK”

Not OK.

The summer breeze cuts off abruptly as I walk through the doors of the VERY middle class cafeteria. I look around the bustling room for a place to stand where I am out of the way but still visible by the servers emerging from the kitchen. I turn the wooden spoon so the number faces outwards. “9” – does that mean ninth in line? After a few moments I realise that it does not. The servers behind the till are handing out the wooden spoons randomly. My chest tightens as I realise that I have no idea how long I will be standing here. Why? Why can’t there be a clear order? Are they TRYING to stress me out?

Ten minutes goes by.

I try to distract myself by watching the servers and baristas working, then angle myself to see through the small square window to the kitchen. Ahh. So the kitchen is the problem. The pace outside the kitchen verses the pace inside is ridiculous. The two chefs couldn’t move slower if they tried.

“Hey there! What’s your order number, Sweetheart?”

I jump and blink at the overly enthusiastic fifty something server who has appeared suddenly at my elbow. He’s short and bald with a bushy moustache. A klaxon goes off in my mind:

“THREAT! THREAT! THREAT!”

I take a deep breath, remind myself how unreasonable my brain can be, and make a big deal of looking down at my spoon to check the number.

“Nine.” I practically whisper my response.

“OK, Sweetheart, I’ll check with the kitchen for you,” he says and rushes off.

I grimace at his back. Now he’s going to come and talk to me again. Shit.

I do another scan of the cafeteria and spot an unoccupied stool behind me which I hadn’t noticed before. I hop onto it and grin like a kid when I find that it spins. I check my phone and realise that there is free WIFI – just the thing to lift my mood, whoo! Now I can wait and ignore everything around me. I assume the position; head down, shoulders curved in, phone in hands in lap. I can do this.