Wednesday, 18 November 2009

Caffeine is a powerful drug

It's 6:10 in the morning, pitch black. Raining, gusting wind and all I want is a freaking coffee. I've been standing outside the coffee shop on the platform next to the sign reading "We open at 6" while the 25 year old guy manning the shop potters about behind the counter. He is refusing to acknowledge my presence until he saunters slowly over to unlock the door. He looks pointedly in my direction and unlocks the OTHER door.

In a former, pre-commuting life, I probably would have launched into a tirade about the fact that I'm frozen and soggy, now have 4 minutes to catch my train and if I can get myself to the station at this hour after being up all night with a deadline, he can damn well open the door on time. However, I've learned something from my travels. Three-quarters of the people coming through here are travel-weary, confused and enraged, so that tactic won't work. Besides, I'm pretty sure that this guy lives with his mother and spends his money on pirated DVDs. Shouting won't faze this guy. So, instead I opt for confusing him by being cheerful. When I finally get in the shop, I ask him if they no longer open at 6.

The extra from Clerks slowly looks me up and down, before deciding that I'm cool and and on his side, so explains that his bosses have decided to stop paying for staff to take a taxi to work because of the recession. So, he's showing his protest by opening the shop when he feels like it. I get the impression that I'm supposed to join him in outrage and congratulate him for sticking it to the man. Instead I just order a large americano and a bacon sandwich while checking my watch and wondering if I'll have time. The customer service poster boy throws me a bone. He won't be bothering to put out any sandwiches for another hour or two, so I'll have time to make the train after all.

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