Tech -tills: The Supermarket

Posted on by tuesdaylatte

Only I wasn’t really sure this was where the shop was either. I hit the wrong button and the car started to self clean at the traffic lights. That’s always embarrassing and I think you can be fined for it. ..read more. 

I can’t believe I’m here. It’s a supermarket of all places. I am the only human here. I didn’t even know this was still possible. I have walked around the place and collected my own groceries. Mostly I have just felt in the way. This trolley has a duff wheel-astonishing. With all this tech, no one has figured out how to make supermarket trolleys with wheels that work.

This trolley has a little digital display on it. Every time I put something into the trolley it tells me how much I have spent. In theory I should be able to just walk through the checkout at the end and the transaction will be done, but that part of the store isn’t working. I saw it on the paper sign as I came in. Who the hell puts up paper signs-where did they even get the paper? It was over the digital display which was also broken.

I suspect that so few people do their transactions this way anymore that it broke at some point and wasn’t worth fixing. This place is like a museum. You can trace the different ways supermarket technology has changed by the left over tech. Its telling me I have spent £10,000  now. It is clearly faulty. There are only a handful of things in my trolley. I need more but everything in this shop is either moving so fast I can only just dodge it, so slow I lose patience or is now perfectly still.

I am in the way. Some of these machines were clearly not designed for human interaction. Every so often I have to leap to one side out of the way of an overzealous bot looking for the vegan sugar-I thought all sugar was vegan but maybe not. The baked bean tins I want are blocked by a broken down robot and whilst a machine is able to find a means of getting around it, I couldn’t. My human arms just weren’t flexible enough. I will be going without baked beans this week.

I am only here because the connection between my house and the supermarket has somehow been lost. That is not even supposed to be possible. It was a total shock to me and to my devices. I have no idea how or why but in the meantime, the machine told me, I would need to do a manual shop. It told the car, but the car got the shop location wrong so I had to override it on the way here. Only I wasn’t really sure this was where the shop was either. I hit the wrong button and the car started to self clean at the traffic lights. That’s always embarrassing and I think you can be fined for it. I arrived here with the car nice and clean and a trail of water and detergent behind us. Needless to say I had a choice of car parking spaces. I am surprised they have not built on them but maybe no one wants to live near a supermarket. Maybe they have just forgotten the space is here.

There was a robot to guide us to a parking space but I think that was overkill. It wanted me to park quite a distance from the entrance, apparently you are still not allowed in the parent child spots even though yours is the only car there. My car refused to over ride the robots order so my car is a mere speck in the distance from inside the shop.

The whole place hums with the low level buss of a machine. It feels as if you are walking into a computer. The inside is quite dark. Not all the lights are working and they don’t bother to fix them. The tech doesn’t need light the way humans do. As a matter of fact I think the lighting only flicked on as I came in. it detected a ‘human entry’ as I am known. The whole thing is a little confusing and out of control. I am here anyway. I wasn’t even sure if I could get in. But the doors opened when I approached. It beeped in recognition of my organic nature. It all feels a little odd, I am quite nervous. I don’t want to be as they are probably using some tech to track my moods and nervous will attract the attention of security. Supermarkets didn’t have the best reputation when it came to robot security. I know that was a while ago but I don’t want to tempt fate.

The shelves are well stocked if a little chaotic. There isn’t much need for order, the robots here identify things by scanning for tiny coded chips. You can put stuff anywhere and they can find it. The semblance of order is only for the odd human who comes here. It is pretty obvious people don’t come here often. At the very end of the store is a robot sitting at an old style till and I think that is where I will have to go to pay. Meanwhile I dodge everything around and about me.

When I get to the till, I have to switch the robot on. Thank goodness there is just a big green button in the middle-this is lowest common denominator tech.  It whirrs into life and speaks slightly mechanically. Asks me how I am? How are my children? I have none. Surely it should have registered that from my allocated parking space. I think this is very old tech.

I put things on the counter and it begins to slide and scan them. And it smiles ridiculously at me. I smile back. I am paying with my device I think. I have no idea if it will work. I pack the stuff back into the trolley. There are no bags, of course there are no bags, why would we need bags. Mostly my groceries are delivered to the side door and put directly into the fridge and the cupboards-I think. This usually happens when I am out or in the shower or some other time. I have no idea where most of this stuff goes or I guess if I even need this stuff. I am just shopping because the device said I needed to shop. It was going to send me a list but it hasn’t arrived. I guess there is no connection. That was clever, perhaps the house sent it to the car and the car didn’t bother passing it on to my device in my bag. In any event I am just buying random stuff.

I am guessing. The machine at the till is beeping and the beep is getting longer. Then it just stops. Typically, absolutely the machine just stops. I look around me. There is no one here to help. What do I do? There isn’t another human on site. I look around for an alarm button, anything. Actually I don’t really want supermarket robot security. I do the obvious thing. I just reach over, hold the button down and switch the robot off. Some things never change. Then I switch it on again. Reboot. It then tells me I will need to start again, so I put it all back on the other end of the counter and it starts processing it again. I keep watching it. I don’t want to do this a third time. I try to remain calm but I am edgy, I know that.

Suddenly a second robot is there looking over my shoulder. It has security written on it. It starts reading its protocol. This is just a random check that they do on humans who enter the store to check that they are not stealing. I have been selected for checking etc etc. I am the only human in the store so it makes sense that I would be selected although it’s all a bit creepy. I try to maintain calm, these robots are not the best programmed machines. I am meticulous, methodical and calm. Somewhere I can hear two robots crashing into each other.

Really I just want to be out of here and never do this again. Both robots are smiling at me now and there is panic in the pit of my stomach. I can’t explain it. They are making me uncomfortable. The lights are flickering. I keep putting my groceries into my trolley. Really!  Could this robot get much slower. My smile is literally plastered on now. I am sure they know. Know what! There is nothing to know. I haven’t done anything wrong. The connection between my house and the supermarket is lost. I am not stealing anything. I am just doing a manual shop.

My palms are sweaty. I think my breathing is getting faster. I need to stay calm. These security robots can be a bit, well eccentric. It is watching me. I am trying not to rush. I am putting things that I am not sure that I need into my trolley in a measured way with a smile on my face. Plastered, glued, stuck onto my face. I want to run but I must shop. I must stay calm. They are both looking at me. The till robot is finished and I have to pay. It rings up the total. I don’t even look at it. I rummage in my bag for the device. I am making a mess of it. Where is it? Why is it not at my finger tips. Was I too over eager on an item? Did I put something in before it scanned.

I have no idea. I am so hot and so worried. I keep smiling. I want to say something but what. I pass me device over the machine and payment is accepted. I want to run. I seriously just want to run. They are both staring at me, smiling. I hate this place.

‘Have a nice day’ they say in unison. I am creeped out and I leg it for the door. Before I am even in the car, I am being asked about ‘my experience’ so ‘we can make it better for everybody’. I hit the go button on my car. OMG why does the ‘go button’ look exactly like the self clean button. I look for cancel. I can’t find it. I do the survey whilst the car cleans itself. I am leaving more water and detergent in the car park as I finally head for home. I never want to do that again.

Mood Teeth

Posted on by tuesdaylatte

My teeth are now a luminous yellowy green which apparently somehow reflects my mood as read by a chip implanted into my gums which somehow figures out how I am feeling by the flow of blood to my gums or something. Actually I am not sure how it works…read more

I look in the mirror and try and concentrate really hard. How am I feeling? Slightly panicked if I am honest. Maybe confused. Annoyed. Frustrated. There isn’t one word to cover it. I look at the app, I scroll through all the colours-there is no colour for slightly panicked. There is for frustrated, a sort of apricot. Apricot? Why-who gets this? There is annoyed but there is no combination of the two- no frustrated and annoyed. I look at my teeth. They appear in the mirror as a sort of lemony green glowing mess–well monstrosity.

I thought ‘mood teeth’ would be fun. At least I did at some point. I think I’d had-Ok I definitely had too much to drink. I remember my mother’s tattoo. She got it on a similar holiday when she was young. She hated it. It was a mermaid with large –well larger than life upper body parts. Cartoonishly big. She had no idea what possessed her one drunken evening to get a ‘mermaid with oversized boobs’ tattoo. She regretted it always. She wore a very covered up wedding dress so no one would see it. She had it removed eventually.

No tattoo for me, I’ve got mood teeth. It’s hard to explain if you haven’t seen them. It’s an implant in your gum-at least I think it’s in my gum and it somehow changes the colour of my teeth according to my mood. It’s a fabulous idea and when it’s done properly it’s wonderful. It’s very popular with celebrities. I tell myself these things over and over as if somehow at some point that will make me feel better.  I have not had the best version of mood teeth. I am not even sure how much I paid. Or how I paid. I guess it will appear on my bank statement soon and I can be even more horrified than I am now.  

My teeth are now a luminous yellowy green which apparently somehow reflects my mood as read by a chip implanted into my gums which somehow figures out how I am feeling by the flow of blood to my gums or something. Actually I am not sure how it works. The brochure I have is in Spanish and I am too scared to download the English version. I should just buy a Spanish speaking chip and implant it behind my ear then I could read Spanish. But I think this might be the last of my chip implant experiments. I might leave it to the younger generation. That is exactly what my mother is going to say. You’re nearly thirty and you’re getting chip implants like a 15 year old. She has a point.  No more chips for me. Next time I will just go for good old fashioned teeth colour, its like nail polish only for teeth-isn’t that the tag line.

When I run my tongue along the top of my gums I can feel the implant. I am sure that is not right. I am going to have to go to the dentist to have it removed. She is going to laugh. It is going to cost a fortune. Meanwhile my teeth sit there –luminescent, while I am too embarrassed to leave the house. I did go to work Friday but it was a disaster. They were a sort of purple brown to start with but it got worse. On Friday, mid-meeting as I was presenting they cycled through the entire colour scheme. I could see the audience just sitting there watching my teeth. No one wanted to say anything. People were embarrassed for me. I was embarrassed for me. There are about 40 colours. In the end I just stopped speaking and sat down.  

After 20 minutes it stopped but I had to let someone else take over. What was I thinking? I am kind of hoping the chip will run out of power soon and I can have it removed. I am too worried to even search how long it will take. I am seeing my mother today and I know she will want me to go to the dentist right away. Improperly licensed mood teeth can cause serious damage to your teeth and your gums. I think there’s an ad just above the subway-government sponsored.

I just don’t know what to say to her. She is going to know as soon as she sees me. I try to think happy thoughts and my teeth turn orange and then sort of a dull purple colour again. This is not how it looks on screen.

I leave the house, determined not to smile at anyone. I am walking to the cafe. The woman who always walks her dog on a Sunday morning passes me. We always smile even though we don’t know each other. I nod at her today as if I am absorbed in something else. She smiles. I feel bad. Then as I cross the road, the driverless car stops for me and I notice the passenger. He is quite cute. I want to smile. I must not smile. He smiles. I look at the road and keep walking. An opportunity missed. It is 20 minutes of walking where I simply focus on showing no one my teeth.

My teeth on the other hand seem to tingle as if they are enjoying this. Humiliation. I look at the app, what is the colour of humiliation. I am not sure the colours I have are standard. They might be standard for Europe and not for the UK. Do they have different standards for mood teeth in Europe. I think they do. The names of the emotions on the app have all reverted to Spanish-that can’t be good. Can it? I vow to look up just how serious the complications can be.

I arrive at the café. I meet my Mum here every Sunday. We really should go virtual. I nod at the waitress as I go in. She smiles. I don’t. I feel bad. She looks at me oddly. I always smile. I want to say, I can’t I have ‘mood teeth’ and its not like the TV. They are malfunctioning. I couldn’t even post any social media photos of me after I got these. No one saw the end of my holiday. I have a long list of people messaging to find out if I’m ok. I haven’t known what to say. I have lost some followers I think, just through my silence. They went bad from day one. I am not even sure where I got them. I was too drunk.

I see my mother come in. She smiles. I don’t. She frowns. I try not to notice. She takes off her jacket and slips into the chair across from me. The waitress comes over. She is fast because we always order the same thing.

I mumble ‘the usual’ trying to make sure she doesn’t see my teeth.

My Mum looks really worried now.

She reaches across and takes my hand. Then I smile. It’s just a reaction, subconscious, quickly. I shut my mouth again. I see her eyebrows react to my teeth. I have no idea what colour they are now. She is staring. Just staring with heightened eyebrows, then she bites her lips and then she laughs. I mean she just laughs out loud. The whole café turns to watch as she screeches, ‘what have you done’ at me.

I sink into the chair and steel myself. I must not open my mouth until she is quiet and no one is looking. The waitress brings my carrot cake, and latte and I can see that she has seen my teeth. She is also trying not to laugh. I am like a bad social media story.

My mother collects herself. I want to remind her about the mermaid with the big boobs but I don’t.

‘I don’t think its permanent.’ I say. ‘It will stop working soon.’ I mumble more than say, trying to keep my mouth shut.

She nods and smirks. This is not the support I was looking for.

They’re not that bad’ stumbles out of her mouth as the frown returns. I know she doesn’t mean it.

‘What colour are they at the moment?’ I ask

‘A sort of reddy blue?’

‘You mean green?’

‘No I mean some of them are red and some are blue and some are red and blue and some are something else? It’s an interesting look.’

‘It’s a disaster’

‘A temporary one, perhaps a week at home.’

I look at my coffee. She is still trying not to laugh. It is worse than I thought. I have no idea what to do. I can’t go to work like this. I can’t hack it out of my gum myself, if I do that I might end up with permanent colouration.

It is a short cup of coffee. I go home and hide in my room. Tomorrow I will go to the dentist.

Legacy-she died in the night

Posted on by tuesdaylatte

Coffee cut with dirt or sand or embers. I think I can see an ember glowing in the bottom of it. Ember coffee. Tastes like-well, charcoal…read more

She died in the night, the old lady. I had learned to sleep through the moaning and perhaps that was callous. The younger one woke me. She must have been sitting there with her when it happened. I knew what had to be done. There is no ritual around burial.  There isn’t the time, the resources. One gone is one less mouth to feed. Still that will be scant consolation here, they only had each other. I think it had been that way for a long time. And now the dreaded ‘there is only me’. I have gotten used to it, been like that for too long to worry about the sentiment.

I groaned my way out of bed, which was wrong because I understood the urgency. The moaning had been endless and now there is no moaning and maybe someone is listening and maybe someone will come. And whoever comes here will be better fed than the people at the rubbish tip. I have had the spade in the corner for days and a second hand knife I have been sharpening. I went to bed dressed, we all do.

Between the two of us we heft the body downstairs, carrying it between us. Into the slush and mud that was the ground floor. I don’t think the flood is ever receding and we will need to move inland. It is just a fact. Hundreds, thousands, millions, billions have faced this dilemma everyday for what must be half a century now. Maybe, maybe not that long. It is ten years since I abandoned England the first time, no I think -it can’t be that long. It would make her so much older now, so long without her. So much I can’t remember. I am alone. I tell myself that. It does not bear thinking about. No one will carry my body like this. There is no point in sentiment.

When did the water start coming in? Who knows? I don’t think there was a specific date. There probably was for some cities. I vaguely remember a headline about Miami sinking into the sea, but maybe it was Shanghai or Denmark. I don’t think Denmark was a city, it all eludes me now. The facts are irrelevant. It’s all just gone.

We carry the body between us. Sloshing through the mud in the darkness. The road –well the water that is flowing between the houses where the road once was, is only lit by fires from inside open buildings, buildings with no walls, or only a back wall or side walls but not enclosed. They aren’t proper buildings. They open onto the street. Mostly they are built just a foot off the ground, this allows them to stay open when the floods aren’t too bad. It keeps money or its equivalent flowing in whatever the weather. They call themselves ‘cafes’ but they are nothing like the cafes I remember. Some of them have fire all night. These light our way. But it is still dim and dark. We move quickly and quietly.

I take the old woman’s body now. She is bent over with grief. The reality is sinking in. I have the old woman over my shoulder. I look around, wary, aware. I try to make the thing I am carrying look less human, more small. The ‘cafes’, they never close, they are a refuge. They are dotted along the main road.  People sleep there, live there, eat there. It isn’t like before. People are looking out, walking past us, seeing what we have and looking the other way. No one cares. There are no rules here.  They know we must hurry.

We take the main road even though its where we are most likely to be noticed. Its also where its most likely for someone to intervene if we need them. Even now people baulk at the idea. They don’t like it and sometimes they will come to your aid. Plus if I have to fight myself I’d always rather there were witnesses. I don’t like doing death in dark alley ways, I always feel it is dishonest. Deceitful. It feels like a crime, death out here in defence of a human body would feel justified, reasonable. Even though it is only hunger that will drive our attackers.

We are taking the body to the end of town, there is a rubbish tip there, which is constantly burning. It is not mined the way the plastic mountains are. It simply smoulders and smokes all day. It burns endlessly, who knows when it was set alight. When I say burns, there are no open flames, just constant trails of smoke into the sky and lumps of embers on the ground. Its alight but only in the summer does its flames streak out into the sky.  Its on slightly higher ground, or its made the slightly higher ground, who knows which. It smoulders even in the rain, its long peel of smoke drifting into the air on even the worst of days. It burns underground somewhere, away from the weather, there are glowing coals on top, its like a volcano only made of rubbish. Its immense, its hard to get across to anyone the size of the thing. They have slid into towns before, these burning ember trash mountains. I remember hearing about one once. There is the rubbish of a whole civilisation there smouldering away in a pit that was once landfill. It’s delightful aroma covers the town some days, but I think we are all used to it. Smoke inhalation is a better way to die than the belly.

We are going to burn the body. It is better than the alternative. We could sell it. But there is some semblance of humanity left here. My advice is don’t buy from the local butcher, and certainly don’t buy from someone who offers you meat in the street. It might be dog, it might be rat, it might be something else.

It is no secret what we are going to do. We are going to dig her a hole and put her in and hope she is burned to a crisp and inedible by morning. I have a shovel, it is unlikely the people by the tip will have one so I have to dig deep enough so that it is hot enough that they will not be able to retrieve her. I will guard it for the night. It is the least I can do. She will need to go and mine the plastic mountains tomorrow anyway.

I can see the smoke in night sky, its just darker than anywhere else. There are no stars shining through it. The tip has tracks running through it. We walk on through it and stop randomly. There were footsteps behind us. I could hear them but I didn’t turn to look. There seemed to be only one set or two at the most. She sits. I put the corpse of the old lady on her lap. She is crying softly. I guess this was her mother, maybe her aunt. I’ve no idea, I never asked. Can’t even remember how we came to be friends. Details don’t matter, survival does.

 I dig, not as quietly as I’d like but I dig. In the greyness beyond I can see one or two people, sitting, watching. That is why I will stand guard. I dig slowly at first to give her more time. Then I realise that soon that there will be too many people off in the greyness and there will be no chance of defending her. I look at the hole, just off the side of the track. I can see glowing embers at the bottom. Not enough oxygen for flames. I take the body myself and push her away as she grabs out at it. I shove it in to the hole I have dug and start to pile ash and dirt on top. I do it quickly. Its at this point that we are most vulnerable. I am watching them out of the corner of my eye. At least I am watching the darkness, shapes in the darkness and the shapes in the darkness are not moving. Its hard work in hot conditions.

I pile in embers. I would like to see flames but I know that won’t happen. I hope she is watching my back a bit. But I can hear her sobbing, a sign of weakness I’d rather not have. I keep working. I can see them edge closer. Movement. I stop.  Look around me. They are still far enough away. She does not look up, crying into her sleeve. If I shout they will take that as a sign of vulnerability. I pile more embers in on top of her. She will cook slowly and then eventually be burned to all hell. Just a charred skeleton. The odd thing is if you have ever seen a plastic belly victim burned, the plastic just melts into a gooey pile and sticks to the skeleton. You can always tell a belly victim that way. The skeleton usually the spine, the plastic is melded on to it. Sometimes you can even still see a glint of colour. It is not pleasant.

I have covered her now, well and good. I stand beside it. Put my shovel into the ground, stand there, looking formidable. These people are hungry, well you’d have to be wouldn’t you. I don’t begrudge them food, just not this food.

She waits with me. As the dawn nears, I send her home. I know she won’t be there when I return, she will have gone to work. There is no time for mourning here.

I wait and watch the sunrise. I am hungry too. I am thirsty. I would love a coffee. The sun is getting hotter, water and coffee. I stand guard. One of them approaches. Dirty, ragged. Probably that is how I look to. She holds out a cup. I can smell coffee, not real coffee. Coffee cut with dirt or sand or embers. I think I can see an ember glowing in the bottom of it. Ember coffee. Tastes like-well, charcoal. I know what this means. The woman under the ground, her daughter, these people, they took me in. This woman in the ground, roasting, she is my friend. I made a promise. I did not mean for her to be cooked, but to be charred so she had no nutrition left to be taken. Dignity.

I look at the woman offering me coffee. How long since she ate? She isn’t that old, maybe she has children. She reaches out with the coffee. I tell myself I have lines I will not cross. It’s just that I constantly surprise myself as to exactly what they are. They are never where I think they are. She is dead. No one will know but me.  My hand, it moves up. Reaches out. I feel the warmth of the cup. I take the coffee. I stand and drink it, wondering just how much plastic I am ingesting in this one cup. The woman who gave it to me has the belly too. I can see it. I know to them every second counts but for me, another piece is broken. Another taboo overlooked so humanity can survive.

I don’t finish the coffee. I throw it out onto the ground. I can see the look she gives me, aghast at the waste. I am careful to make sure the dead ember stays in the bottom, even as I throw away the rest of its contents. Maybe she can use it again. Maybe its a sentimental ember. I don’t care anymore. I drop the cup. I don’t care enough about anything to hand it back. I grab the spade and walk away.

There was almost nothing left of her anyway. They will be gnawing at bones. I hear the scuffle behind me. Someone is digging. Someone is hungry. She will be cooked nicely I think. I wander home, I wade through water. I wished the world were different. I wished I was different. I wished I could make different choices. None of us is better than another. Tomorrow I will let her have a day off and work the mountain myself. The day after maybe I will think about the Med, about crossing it, about going over the sea, about different choices.  

Alone in the coffee shop

Posted on by tuesdaylatte

Am I waiting for someone else? If not, I am taking up space. If they leave it long enough perhaps I will get up and leave and they can give the table to someone else a duo, a two-some. Not a lonesome. I look at my phone. I look at the menu. I am not waiting for anybody. I will not leave. It is a battle of wills…read more 

I am sitting in the coffee shop. Just me. Alone. At a table for two. They are very busy. I can see, it has been noted. They keep looking at me. Am I waiting for someone else? If not, I am taking up space. If they leave it long enough perhaps I will get up and leave and they can give the table to someone else a duo, a two-some. Not a lonesome. I look at my phone. I look at the menu. I am not waiting for anybody. I will not leave. It is a battle of wills.

They serve those people first, that couple that had to squeeze onto that table in the corner when this one has more space. Why didn’t I sit at that one? That table is the one no one really wants. That table is probably made for people who are alone.

They sit there scrunched into a corner, on a table meant for one. She is pretty, well made up-maybe not pretty without all the help. He is rugged, handsome, proud to go out with someone who can use makeup to improve themselves that much. Lets just call it considerably improved for her sake. I notice his shoes, they are brown. No, those are what you call tan- tan shoes, fur lined. Fur popping out over the top. The right shoes for snow. He is Mr Right shoes for snow. Maybe he even knew snow was coming and bought them especially. They are clean and shiny, like he has walked from the car to the coffee shop but in a very masculine way. A swagger. He has swaggered here. You can see him in the car park, pressing the button on the car key very hard. Deliberate. Manly. Lock those doors. Get over yourself it’s just a car key. I want to say that out loud but I don’t, because who knows if that happened, perhaps he drives a Citroen. All that machismo and still drinking a soy latte. It’s a miracle he isn’t wearing aviator sunglasses.

My boots are old, tatty, holed and worn through-the wrong shoes for snow. Hers are grey, with some tassel ties and speak of effortless class and elegance. Just not sure which class or what level of elegance. Higher than mine though. They match her jumper. I match nothing. Nothing I wear matches me. But I still have a better table. I have the table they want. I have the sort of table a tan shoe, grey boot, soy latte couple should have. And I am not giving it up.

Another couple stand in the door waiting, as if I should leave. I will not leave, if they don’t serve me soon I will make a scene, but I will not leave. This is the problem with real cafes over virtual ones-you can’t easily add tables in ‘manual cafes’. You can’t just hit ‘tab’ and double the size. But I don’t like being on my own in VR. I don’t think its as safe as people say. I think they might be sucking out my brain. Here in a real café no one knows anything about my brain. I could be thinking anything and probably I am.

I sit firmly on this chair. Its like I am attached to it. I am staying on this chair. This is my table. I will have coffee here. I will not be cowed. The waitress finally comes over. She does not make eye contact. I do not make eye contact. Neither of us is the winner. Yet. I order. I spend time on each word as if she is not quite up to taking my order. As if she might not understand what I am saying. It is a game of power and I have the table. I end with ‘Please’. That surprised her. She thought I would be grumpier on account of being alone and speaking slowly. But I am polite. I smile.  I am triumphant. She turns and walks away as if nothing has happened. But it has happened. I have kept the table and the couple by the door must wait and the two over there in the corner must huddle into the wall to eat their oversized meals and their funny soy coffees in their perfect shoes.

I sit there reading a book, a book written in French. Ha. Another victory. I can’t speak French. I don’t speak any French except the French I have learned with the free app on my phone, which is 424 words, which is almost none at all because whilst I recognise those words as French I barely know what they mean. And I have no idea how to say them.

I sit there reading a book written in French but I am just looking at the pages, hoping it seeps in. I think that even though my clothes don’t match, the French book makes me more sophisticated than grey boot woman and tan shoe man. Their shoes are right for the snow but they have no French books on their table as they scrape their elbows on the wall eating their farty baked beans breakfast. Crumpled up in that tiny corner at the tiny corner table. I luxuriate in the vast expanse of table before me. I know they aren’t looking but I am sure they know. Everyone knows. I have this table. This table is for me alone. And it has two chairs, count them, two chairs.

I have this table and it is mine. The coffee comes and the tea cake-it is slightly burned –should I send it back? Is it deliberately burned? She apologises for the delay but not the burned-ness. What should I do? Do I mention they are burned? Plus they are small. These are hot cross buns really, not tea cakes. Is that deliberate? It is a game I cannot win. ‘Pick your battles’, that is good advice. I ponder for a moment. Thinking on my chair, that is what I am good at. Let this one go. Its not worth it. You have the table, you have space. I let it go. Perhaps I will take more time and order a second coffee except. The coffee is abysmal. It is always abysmal but I like the ambience here. Although it is missing ambience today because there are so many people. The waiting couple have gone now. I smile. I have the table. It is mine.

I eat tea cake. I sip coffee. Grey boot is laughing. Tan shoe is smiling. They are happy. Squished into a corner. I could not be happy in that corner. Perhaps I should do my eye brows like her. Would tan shoe man notice me if my eye brows were like hers. Do you suppose he likes her for her eyebrows. Do you suppose he likes her at all? Maybe not. Maybe they are breaking up. I finish my tea cake. I sip my coffee. There is no hurry. I have the table. It is mine.

I notice the hair of the woman in front of me. It is grey with pink through it. She is stylish too, but the woman with her. She is not a style queen, reddish hair and a blue top, with a hideously over done face. But that pink hair, I love that. I might leave when they leave so I can tell her. But I might not. I didn’t come here to spread joy. You can over-joy you know. I look at the spacious table before me, at the free chair, I don’t need to spread joy. My presence here is disrupting the natural order of things. I like her hair but I don’t want her to see my boots

There is another table free now. Another couple come in. An old woman and her son. Maybe her son. Maybe her lover. You never know. He goes to the bathroom. She sits down. She has a purple hat. It is knitted. I have a blue hat. I have had it for 20 years. It is a ‘gnarly dude’ hat. Which is not a thing, it always reminds me of mutant ninja turtles. It makes me happy. I think of turtles, mostly ninja ones when I put it on. Hats that make you think of turtles –hats don’t come better than that. Ninja turtles are such a good idea. We should have more ninja animals. All of these thought run through my head as I take up space at this table. I will not be hurried. This table is mine.

Every so often the staff glance at me as if to see if I am finishing. Then this table that has one person can be used as a table for two people. Never mind that the two that just came in are sitting at a table for four. That it seems is acceptable. It’s a double standard-a pun, but true nonetheless. They are wasting two seats and I am only wasting one, nonetheless they will be served promptly. They are not looked down on, there will be no apology to them for the time it has taken to get things. They are different to me. They are together. I am the worst of all things. I am alone. At a table for two. I see the waitress look at them, she is thinking what I am thinking. The woman with the pink hair is getting up to leave. I am not getting up to leave. Not yet. I will not be telling her how nice her hair is. That is a sad thing. But I must keep my table for a bit longer.

Grey boot and tan shoe are getting up to go. It must be uncomfortable in that corner, no matter how much you like the other person. He is attentive, she is attention seeking. They make me want to vomit. Soy latte, if a latte doesn’t have any real milk is it really a latte? I think not. If you eat a meal squished into a corner with no elbow room, have you really eaten out? I think not. Might as well have eaten on the sofa at home and avoided the risk of scuffing your shoes.

I finish my coffee. But I wait. I wait until grey boot and tan shoe are replaced at their table. Pink hair and blue shirt are also replaced. It is full again. I wait until someone else is standing waiting for a table, another couple, waiting to see if I am leaving. I am leaving. But in my own time. It takes an age to get my book into my bag. A long time to put on my coat. A time  where I am hovering at my seat. Somewhere between still here and leaving and nearly gone. My first tentative step away from my table.

The couple can’t move too fast, what if I go back. Order another coffee.  I pace slowly to the counter to pay. I have won. I know behind me they are slipping into chairs, one warm and one cold. I smile sweetly at the waitress who does not make eye contact but looks at my hat. Yes, that is my hat and I wear it publicly. I take the change from my ten pound note. All coins. What does that mean? Is that a sign, all coins? Don’t come here and take up one of our tables again. If that is what it meant, it is lost on me. I will be back. I will be here again. I will not be cowed. I have won.