A New York Story

This morning I went to run a couple of errands for a friend (getting keys copied, mainly) and picked up some cold medicine (for obvious reasons), but on the way around the block I stopped at this great Belgian bakery chain known for its organic ingredients and fresh preparation (I’ll go into more detail when I resume the regular diary). But it was there I got another great New York experience. While I waited for my coffee and tart, I listened to this middle aged lady in a fur coat complain and squawk to anyone that cared (or not) that her yogurt was taking too long.

“What’s takin’ so long?! How can this take so long?! I’ve seen other people served their yogurt in the back! Where’s my yogurt?! All this for a cup of yogurt!”

The staff was very patient, explaining that each order is made fresh, from scratch, but the lady was having none of it.

“I’m sure the yogurt is ready! I bet if you just looked it’s ready!”

“Ma’am,” they said, “we can see the counter and the order isn’t up.”

When the manager finally came out she complained, loudly, to him as well, even as they wrapped her yogurt to go. I thought about slapping her, but decided against it. On the way out, I held the door for another customer to enter, and the evil NYC crone, yogurt in hand, stomped out around me. And I didn’t get a thank you.