I know, one is actually not allowed to
write things like that. But sometimes, you’re cooking inside, whilst everybody (i.e. society) around you expects you to be calm and “fine with it”. But frankly, I’m not.
I hadn’t been in my favourite café in 4
weeks or so, and I really looked forward to spend a nice cold afternoon curled
up on my favourite sofa in my favourite café, with my favourite coffee and my
favourite cake. Everything was fine.
‘Till you came along.
You, meaning a family of way too much
people, maybe 7, who stepped into the café, finding it occupied, apart from a
few chairs here and there. You saw me sitting there all alone on the sofa, with
my studying book in front of me. Naturally, I understand your thoughts: she is
alone, she is studying, she fits on that tiny table in the corner, directly next to the
loudspeaker. We don’t. We are 7 and have 3 children with us. We will consume so
much more than she can in a whole day. It is our right to sit there.
So you, the man of the family asked me,
whether I could move. I understand the reasoning. And it makes perfect sense.
You were not even asking rudely, but polite.
But, to hell with that: Dishonor on you. DIshonor on your cow. Dishonor on your whole family.
For a moment I was sitting there,
perplexed, and on the verge of saying something rude. But, of course, I am not that kind of
person. And they must have smelled that from the moment they opened the door.
“Oh she looks like a nice girl, she wears a woollen Sweater, she must be
polite”.
Of course I moved. I said “sure”, packed my
stuff and moved. I didn’t even get a thank you.
Oh, how I hated you.
I had the Book of Norse Philology an my
knees, reading about runes and in my imagination I read those runes allowed,
cursing your family for all eternity, cursing you to get diarrhoea from that
cake you were eating. I cast a (in my imagination, maybe it was much nicer than
I wanted it to be) evil look to the one woman, who surely would not have had
the guts to ask me to change place.
From that moment I did not as much as
glimpse into your direction; I read my book, changing from a look so sour it
could make every lemon dry up in envy, to a sad one, hoping to make the
impression of being very depressed and making you regret sending me away from
my spot. But of course you did not notice any of this, whilst you were playing
scrabble, drinking Chai Latte, and laughing in perfect happiness.
Ooo, how I hated you.
I planned to stay at least as long as to
jump back to the sofa, the moment you as much as touch your bags. I was
determined to get my spot back in my possession.
But when the moment came and you did indeed
rise and slip into your coats there were two girls coming in and – seeing the
imminent departure – standing right next to the sofa, ready to take over.
Oooh, How I hated you.
Especially when you turned out to be two
blond, selfie-taking Norwegian Girls, who both wore the same jeans and almost
the same white sweater and showed no sign of any individuality. Your faces were
hidden under a ton of make-up, who made you look like Barbie-dolls that landed
in, well, a pot of make-up. You took pictures of your coffee, your cakes,
yourselves with coffee, yourselves with cake, but not yourselves eating the
cake or drinking the coffee, because that would have prevented you
from smiling mechanically into the camera.
I decided to comfort myself with a slice of
Apple Pie and the promise that I would come here everyday next week. While you
probably have to be at school or at work or look after hyperactive children.
Aaah, I love my life. (but I still hate you a little bit)
