Gallic Gaff

Noon Saturday at the Coco Cubano Cafe Crows Nest

Surfmuppet doing a writing exercise from the Faber Academy course, all day session, break.

Outside, lunchtime crowd saunter about all sunglasses, sundresses, t-shirts, jeans, shorts, thongs and talk while others stuff their faces at nearby hostelries.

Juicer juicing, coffee grinder grinding, people bullshitting all around, clatter and clash of the chefs and kitchen hands in the open plan kitchen, slam of presses and drawers.

The samba, salsa or whatever the fuck caribbean jungle voodoo beat and forty something trumpets and horns blaring out in a madwoman’s cacophony of cuban secret police mental torture procedure numero diez.

Muppet is trying to look weekend lunch time sunny day early autumn crows nest cool.

Inside fuming, doing a Bobby Sands impersonation, starving with the hunger, the Sandinista waiters in military style shirts flitting here and there ignoring him.

Fuck them all, will sit here doing this stupid fucking exercise and buy a bag of chips on the way back to the afternoon session.

High, rickety bar stool cum card table chair sways underneath the muppet’s ample 100 odd kg.

Waiter, early 50s, touch dishevelled, appears at his shoulder, points to his menu and mumbles something in what muppet takes to be a cuban accent.

About time too.

“Yes, I”ll have a big breakfast”

…Pause to check if there’s intelligent life on mars in the dark eyes.

“…And a juice”

Points to the menu.

Nothing. The man is obviously retarded and just smiles at him, mumbles something in what muppet now realises is a French accent.

What the fuck is a frenchman doing working in a cuban restaurant in Crows Nest?
If he’s a waiter, the age of him means he’s doing it tough and he’s not a very good waiter anyway, probably won’t last til close of business before he gets fired. Best to go easy on the poor bastard.

Doesn’t have the Fidel Castro army shirt on.
Maybe he’s the owner!
Doesn’t have to wear the shirt.
But if he’s the head honcho, should be a bit more switched on.
This place is definitely going to bankrupt city, Havana.

Muppet repeats the order with emphasis on the BIG breakfast and a JUICE.

Frenchie smiles at him, shaking his head and does that gallic index finger waving thing.

“No, no, mon ami, I don’t work here. I only wanted to borrow your menu. That’s if you’ve finished with it of course.”

Gigantic hole appears under the muppet and he disappears into the depths of the underworld where the halfwit dirty eejits live.

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