I was in Cafe Nero on the Strand enjoying my only second ever Cafe Frappe (it's like a grown-up milk shake with a caffeine kick - I never knew what I was missing out on. It's the best discovery since those smoothies in
Melbourne - look at the date. Spooky). I was doing a bit of writing and though I've worked in coffee shops a lot it had only suddenly struck me how noisy the machines behind the counter are. Maybe the cold coffee had heightened my senses, or possibly because it was a nice day more people were requesting drinks involving the blender. It was noisy anyway. There was only one barista behind the bar, a young woman from somewhere indeterminate in Europe. She was working hard.
Then a young probably Italian man came in. He had a smirk on his face, that is only usually employed by boys after they've done something naughty and men when they are in love. I like to think both things applied to him. He was in playful mood and shouted out something that was a bit hard to hear over the noise and through his thick accent, but I guess it was the barista's name. Then he skittishly ducked beneath the counter so that when the barista had turned round from the coffee machine she would be greeted with the sight of no-one calling to her. It was a good joke and one employed by lovers and those hoping to be lovers down the centuries. He peeked over the top of the counter, anticipating the turn and his final duck.
Unfortunately because of all the noise the barista didn't hear him. But he was not to be thwarted. He simply shouted her name a little more loudly and again ducked down, with a sparkle in his eye.
But again the noise was too great and the barista didn't turn round. He was aware that his spontaneous bit of fun was now starting to look a bit silly. Other people (me, at least) had noticed his grand gesture and yet it had fallen on deaf (or deafened) ears. His smile was fading and his coolness was in danger of being compromised. He half-heartedly tried the same thing for a third time, but the sparkle had gone from his eyes, the moment had ebbed away. He was no longer a romantic skittish figure. He was just a bloke bobbing up and down behind a coffee counter, not being noticed by the object of his affections. So he had to go up to the front of the bar and just talk to her from there.
It was a sweet moment to witness and even though the object of his affection will never know what he did for her, I did see it. And I'm impressed by it. And if you're reading mate and you want to get together I'll play along when we meet and you shout my name and hide, by looking confused and wondering if I've gone mad. Before seeing you and making a "you cheeky scamp" kind of face and then kissing you full on the lips.
Rather than that barista who just had a bit of a strained conversation with you and then made a non-commital noise when you said you were going home this week.
You set your sights too high mate.
