I walk into a cafe of sorts the other day, go to the counter to place my usual cappuccino order – strong coffee, lots of froth, no sugar, no cinnamon.  Yes, surprisingly, I have to request that I do not want sugar in my coffee because “Most customers take sugar in their cappuccinos,” I have often been told.  There’s only one barista in said cafe who knows how to make a decent cappuccino, so I ensure that she is on the job.  My friend orders her coffee and a muffin.

The coffees arrive promptly.  The muffin, which has been sitting in the display since we arrived at ten o’clock in the morning, arrives at our table thirty minutes later.  I ask if I may please have a couple slices of gluten-free toast, a regular order of mine in the same cafe.

Meanwhile, we witness one barista preparing a take-away bag of baked goods, previously paid for by the customer.  She then attempts to get the attention of said customer by waving the bag at her, while leaning up against the open section of the counter, where staff can walk through and access the ‘floor’.  Flabbergasted, I watched the bewildered-looking customer approach and take the bag from the barista’s hand.

I call the same barista over to our table and ask, again, for some gluten-free toast, because I have been waiting for half an hour for toast. She goes to check if there is gluten-free bread, returns several conversations later, and informs me there is none.  I ask if there is any in the freezer section of their adjoining market, from which they get their supplies.  I get an “I don’t know.”

“Would you mind checking for me?” I ask.

“Well, hmmm, okay.  I suppose I can.  But if there is any, it is going to take a long time before you get any, because I’ll have to have it signed off by the manager to move it from the freezer into the deli.  So I don’t really know,” she continues.

“Oh no!” I exclaim.  “I really don’t want to cause you any trouble at all.  Is it the case that you are not allowed to get supplies from the market-side?” I ask, with sarcasm, because I damn well know they are allowed.

“No,” she replies, deflated.  “It’s just, well, it is going to take some time to organise.”

FYI, there is a total sum of two occupied tables in the venue, and it is now eleven o’clock in the morning.

Again, I tell her that I do not want to be of any bother, especially if it is going to be so difficult.  Alas, she relents and off she goes – walking the twenty yards to the freezer in the adjacent room.  After twenty minutes, I see her return.  She is waving at me to get my attention, as if the place is crammed with six hundred people, yet there are only about six of us in total.  She shakes her head and I read her lips as she says “No gluten-free bread.”

We have been at the cafe for an hour and twenty minutes now, and between us we have had two coffees and one muffin.  We are very hungry, so we order omelettes.  Forty minutes later, our omelettes arrive.  They are hot, thank goodness.  However, one has to wonder what on earth the six or seven staff members were doing behind the counter during that time, because it cannot take a human being, let alone one trained in the restaurant business, more than five or ten minutes to make two omelettes.  Excuse me, but I do expect more than mediocre service!