- #2: The oldest one to survive cyberspace.
- #3: Never let them see you sweat.
- #4: Betty steps away.
- #4.1: Betty's back in control.
- #4.2: Parallel muffins.
- #5: The first report of New Year 1996.
- #7: I'm a Barbara man.
- #11: Instincts.
- #12: Crunch time.
- #15: Open arms.
- #17: Home on the range.
- #19: Agent Deery's final update before leaving the company.
- #20: The cup runneth over. Agent Weekes also includes a mini-update.
- #21: Betty is the glue.
- #22: Power play.
- #23: Betty, the PR whiz.
- #24: Where's Barbara?
- #25: Another early update from Agent Weekes.
- #26: Chinks in the armor.
- #27: Betty rules.
- #30: Customer service overdrive.
- #31: Nickeled and dimed to death.
- #32: Agent Weekes tries out the new cappuccino machine.
- #33: Agent Nemaric joins the team and provides her first update.
- #34: The beginning of the name game - will she say it?
- #38: Agent Deery is missing Betty at his cafe.
- #40: Agent Weekes tries wearing his name tag.
- #49: Salad Bar Queen.
- #50: A rare update by Agent Anthony written from Betty's perspective.
- #64: Agent Thorax searches for Betty in Washington, D.C.
- #66: Technology wins out.
Update #2 is one of earliest known to exist. Note
its primitive format which formed the basis for later, more sophisticated
works. After more than two years, we are now up to #114. The numbering
on some of the earlier ones did not always follow strict convention. Bear
with us as the site continues to be built; it takes time to put all these
updates online. Unfortunately #1 is lost forever.
Music: A commercial for some giveaway.
Volume: Too high; at that blaring commercial volume
Smell: Today's scent was a combination of musty and cleanser, like holding an old washcloth up to your nose.
Ernie: With tall hat slightly tilted, like he had the Leaning Tower of Pisa on his head, he chatted in front of the soup silos with a well-dressed executive woman. Content unknown.
Betty: Hair slightly disheveled. Company pin on the apron was upside down. As I approached she already had me rung up. "Eighty-one cents blueberry bagel." As I handed her the money she presented change, which slipped out of her hand and rolled towards me. "I'm throwing money at you" she quipped in her smooth baritone. As I walked away I heard the comforting "Sixty five cents please," for the dark suited man behind me.
Conclusion: Betty rules! Ernie may be seeking another job, or a date for this weekend.
Agent Deery
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #3--undated
Smell: A combo of spilled milk and air conditioning. At first mildly pleasing, then the pinch of the milk caused mild nausea.
Song: Dream Lover. Because I want (bop bop) a girl (bop bop) to call (bop bop) my own, I want a dream lover so I don't have to dream alone.
Traffic: Heavy. People hovering around the breakfast bar, looking for coffee stirrers, staring at the muffins and picking at the banana bread. The bagels from yesterday were lonely.
Betty: Overwhelmed but always congenial. On the person before me, she looked at the line which snaked all the way to the donuts. She then, in Mission Impossible fashion, got on the Walkie Talkie and requested backup "Marsha? This is Betty (no code name). Can someone come to help at the register? (crackle) Yeah we'll get someone out there." Then she turned to me with her hand unfolded like a sheet of paper "One twenty-nine please."
Ernie: Appeared to be scraping the grill and setting out secret sauces. Looked particularly like a bulldog today. Perhaps it was his hair. Or the fact that he put out a breakfast bar today and wondered how it was doing.
Conclusion: Never let them see you sweat. Betty continues to be the anchor and point man for a strong operation.
Agent Deery
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #4--9/11/95
Smell: Musty and bad, like the inside of a wrestler's tennis shoe.
Music: "Angel Eyes" The upbeat doo-wop was a nice juxtaposition with the lockeroom smell.
Betty: Busy and wearing her green ensemble of green striped apron and polyester green pants. Hair was matted in the front and striped with perspiration. She was not on a register, but appeared to be sorting some bagels and carrot cake in a large silver bin by her register. When I was in line she said "I'll be back Marsha" and padded off towards the kitchen.
Marsha: Was first refilling the coffee machine and then mechanically walked over and took my money. Her "sixty-five cents" was not followed by a please and was whispered and reluctant. Betty's showmanship was missed.
Conclusion: Betty may be having an affair with Ernie or she is growing tired of the pressures imposed by cashiering. However, for this agent, her front-line friendliness is the only thing that keeps me coming back.
Agent Deery
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #4.1?--9/27/95
SMELL: Salty, like someone had stuck scrambled eggs under your nose.
SOUNDS: Fats Domino's Blueberry Hill. His smooth baritone and lazy rhythm were a nice contrast to Betty's energy.
Betty: A bundle of candy-striped energy. As I approached the muffins, she cut in front of me and Vanna White-style said, as she waved over each set of puffy pastries: "Cranberry Nut, Cappachino, Bran, and Glorious Morning." A short guy over by the juice area asked about bagels. Betty quickly shuffled over and said, "Oh I have many varieties: Cinnamon and raisin, honey wheat and lots more." I had a dollar and the croissant I was buying was more than that. Betty said, "Why don't you just owe me the next time you come down and eat." I agreed and left happy. Betty waddled off toward a stack of plates behind the muffins.
Conclusion: After a couple of down weeks, Betty is back in control.
She
knows the prices and is given leeway with her customers. She's
makin' the hard sell, working the merchandise, and outselling Claudette
and Barbara combined.
Agent Deery out.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #4.2?--11/13/95
Horrors! I believe we have stepped into a parallel cafeteria. Like you mentioned, there was none of the usual sights: no Betty stuffing styrofoam cups, no nauseating odors, only the faint sounds of the Monkees's "Now I'm a Believer" confirmed I was even in a cafe. Where's Betty? Who's going to answer me that? The new girl lacked charisma and wasn't nearly as efficient as Betty. She said as I approached: "Okay. That's a...Nutri-Grain Bar" and then she had to pull out a card to find the price. A cheat sheet! Then she said "65 cents" but with none of the maternal purr that only Betty can produce. This is a dark day. Perhaps Betty had a falling out over her impending showing on the sandwich board. Does she have a dark secret she doesn't want all of us to know?
Was she once a man or did she kill someone? Is she a strung out
former
Broadway singer (perhaps studying under Liza Minelli or Rosemary Clooney)
who is trying to remain anonymous in central ---? We must find
out.
Agent Deery
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #5--1/4/96
Smell: A metallic odor with a hint of cleanser. Sort of like after you've cleaned your sink at home.
Music: The speakers were blaring Fat's "The Twist" and as I stood in Betty's line, I found my hips slightly gyrating in imitation of that nauseating dance craze. Have I succumbed?
Betty: In top form. I think she's really peaking. She anticipates your order before you get to the register, she can handle more than one customer at a time and has the breeziest manner of any of the register people. To show you how in control she is, I went over and picked up the last piece of coffee cake (a new item) from the area near the cookies. Betty, while taking money from a customer, immediately got on the radio and croaked back to headquarters "Do we have any more coffee cake?" I heard the "no" response before I had even wrapped up the piece. When I came through she made her traditional tie remark "Ooo I see we have yellow submarines today." I nodded in admiration and comfort. Meanwhile Claudette and the good-looking blonde shuffled by with silver carts full of muffins and fruit headed for a conference room somewhere.
Conclusion: After a brief shakeup, Betty rules the roost again. She has reasserted herself in 1996 as a model for all other employees to follow. Betty rules!
Agent Deery
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #7--4/9/96
Smell: Like a fine jewelry store: Windex and Perfume swirled together to form an intoxicating brew of heady aroma.
Music: An Autozone commercial played loudly, with the bald confessional as "one of the guys" spoke to me about cars "I'm a car lover, and when I need to fix something, the people at Autozone know just what to get me...."
Betty: Absent. I grabbed a stale corn muffin just as ENJOY came out, with caterpillar moustache and high hat holding a plate of slighty burned muffins. He set them down one by one, like he was putting down a Faberge egg. I approached, not Betty or Mary, but Barbara who said in her high lilt like her voice may crack "Gooood morning." I responded the same and looked at her employee card, dangling from a Mardi Gras necklace around her neck. She has removed her spectacles and squints like a convict who's running from the law in a bad Angie Dickinson movie with a title like "Mama Outlaw and the Bad Boys." I quickly imagine her holed up in a lost shack in the mountains, in skirt and apron with a shotgun spread across her lap, barking out orders to her boys to secure the perimeter before the "pohleease get heyuhh."
Conclusion: Betty's gone, Barbara's sassy and ENJOY's learning how to make muffins, diversifying in case the hot item bar has to close due to corporate cutbacks. Betty's absence can only be explained by her working on her sandwich board. Tomorrow I expect to see her working the merchandise, and cleaning the machines. Until then, I'm a Barbara man myself.
Out.
Agent Deery
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #11--4/18/96
Time: 8:31
Smell: Like the inside of a cow's skin; hot, cramped and sweaty. It wasn't an overpowering smell, but it permeated the whole cafeteria.
Music: "I Hear a Symphony." Ross's silky voice is the only thing that gives creedence to what lyrically is a very maudlin song.
Betty: At her usual left register, she looked like a NASA engineer on launch day: busy, slightly unkempt, and in control. A man with a expanding belly that drooped over his belt and a beeper started to unfold his money. Betty said, "Well you're a little late today!" He nodded shyly, amazed at Betty's perceptiveness. In front of me was an exceedingly tall, pretty girl that reminded me slightly of Brooke Shields. She had one dollar out, which was not enough to pay for her breakfast goodies. As she was fishing through her purse, Betty had already prepared change for the second dollar she then produced. Betty instinctively knew. As the woman left she said, "You have a good day." Betty, already ringing up my order responded, "Oh you can bet I'll try." I passed through like a train on greased tracks, quietly, easily, silently. I didn't want to stop this person at the top of her game. I had just seen it all: the polite asides, the various customer strategies accompanying each transaction, the acute awareness, the reassuring tone. She was pulling receipts and producing change faster than I could even appreciate. She was managing inventory and marking the time each employee came to the cafe. I walked out stunned and quiet. As I did, Brian Wilson sang, "Little Deuce Coupe, you don't know what I got." I now completely knew.
Agent Deery
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #12--4/23/96
Smell: Old seafood and washcloth. Like the underside of a giant squid if you left one on a dock for about four days.
Time 8:35
Music: "Please, Mr. Postman" was blaring over the speakers loud enough so you could hear every plea to the postmaster to bring good news from the fictional long-distance lover. A quaint relic; the happy flip side to the Box Tops "The Letter."
I first focused on the Claudette sandwich board, and was taken aback by its symmetry and professionalism in light of the others. No latent sarcasm or maudlin hoakiness. Just a professional at work. I was quickly distracted as Mary walked by and shot me a smile out of mere professional courtesy. It clearly said, "I'm only doing this because I have to." Before I could adjust to the smell, I saw the white silo hat of "Enjoy" leaning over the muffins. Avoiding the sneeze guard, he expertly placed brown blueberry muffins on the doilied tin, pinching each one slightly in his gloved hands. He moved confidently among the customers, clearly relishing his role as chef among his patrons. His moustache looks to be in full spring bloom, growing longer and more lush like the monkey grass in my back yard.
Betty was wearing green stripes; her company button was sideways as she rung up customers. As our line grew, Betty looked up and put one hand on the walkie-talkie, contemplating calling in reinforcements. But then she pulled it off, confident she could dispatch the crowd with her usual aplomb. Sensing the challenge, she turned on the customer service juice: making small talk, anticipating money amounts, giggling at jokes and announcing purchases in her reassuring baritone. I watched an expert at work during crunch time and was astonished at her efficiency. By the time I quietly slid through the line was gone and Betty had again established herself as champion of employee relations. As I walked out, I peeled back my tin foil and noticed I had purchased a muffin I didn't even want. Betty's powers are greater than I thought.
Agent Deery
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #15--5/13/96
Smell: I was in the cologne wake of an older man with slicked up hair, so the smell was dominated by Brut or some other member of the aftershave family. Perhaps he was trying to combat the effects of a very hot morning.
Time 8:10
Song: As I passed the first coffee silo, the minor-key tinklings of Journey's "Open Arms" started. As I approached the muffin plates, "Enjoy" came bobbing out in his chef's hat and checkered pants. Held aloft like a waiter's tray was a silver tray filled with various muffins. Carefully bending over, he delicately laid down the muffins with hands covered in latex surgeon gloves. I had a flashback to the 8th grade when I danced with Claire Myrick to this maudlin Journey song. She was, of course, taller than I and I remember contemplating whether to tell her how much I hated Journey, or to just keep dancing. A few years later, she would introduce me to Madonna, and was always a big B52s fan.
Betty: Betty was a little rusty. In her green get up she seemed in no great hurry to dispatch our line. As the song creshendoed through power chords and Steve Perry exalted, "Now we'll see, what your love means to me, open arms," Betty told a customer, "Wait, I owe you another quarter." My change was $4, and before she handed me the money she smoothed out one of the bills which had a ruffled corner. As I left, Steve Perry's final notes were fading, and I was just glad I got out before "In my City" started.
Agent Deery
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #17--6/9/96
Time: 8:16
Smell: Air conditioning and bacon simmering in its own grease. That was an unusual smell I traced over to the portable food bar, where two ladies were dumping nuclear yellow eggs into plastic containers.
Song: "You're in My Heart," by Rod Stewart. A hopelessly maudlin love ballad complete with bleating horns. Hinted at Rod's later material, which all seemed to be sung for Rachel Hunter. Bleccch.
Betty: Her shorter haircut matched perfectly with her denim shirt, complete with sewed Western objects on the front. The guy in front of me was in building maintenance, and I imagined the flashlight dangling from his belt was a gun, and he was fixin' to hold up Betty. Another executive, in some action casual wear from Sears, was trying to spear a donut with metal tongs as Rod intoned "Your essay in manners, please pardon the grammar, but you're every schoolboy's dream." Betty asked the maintenance guy, "How you doin' Rod?" Rod gave no reply. Undaunted Betty asked, "How's everybody doin' down there?" Rod, trying to be the silent type knew he had to somehow answer. He grunted faintly "OK." "Greeaatt," Betty purred as she took the change. She had won and he walked off, his implements dangling from his belt. I stared at the cowboy hat on Betty's shirt directly below her chin. She belongs on the open range, taming the tough, silent types. As she took my money, I could only think of one person -- Mae West. "You're a rhapsody, a comedy, a symphony and a play..." Rod mewed but it didn't matter any more, he couldn't hurt me out here on the range.
Agent Deery
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #19--7/24/96
Time: 8:11
Smell: Garlic and Clorox. Like a towel that's been cleaned but then left in the washer wet.
Music: Elton John's uninspired "What About Love," which won several somethings in the music industry, but is bland as the vanilla yogurt being served that day at lunch.
Betty: Betty was dispatching the line in her usual efficient manner. The cash register buzzed to keep up with her tapping. The receipt coiled out like a tongue as she periodically snapped it off and threw it in the trash can. I approached with bagel and muffin, and attempted to pay with change. I miscounted and gave her 5c too much. The following dialogue ensued:
Betty: I'll give you back five. (hands it to me) You gave me a little too much.
Todd: Well, that's what happens when you carry this much change.
B: It weighs you down! (giggles at her own observation)
T: Yea it does. Plus it jingles, so you can't sneak up on anybody. Not that I have today.
B: (hugs the cash register towards her) Yeah, but there are times you want to sneak up on someone, aren't there? (shoots me a knowing glance)
T: Yeah. (I try to laugh but can't shake the feeling that Betty is telling me more than I realize. By now there's someone in line, and Betty is back to work, chatting and tallying prices. I'm left in front of the condiments, staring ahead with tin-foil wrapped bagel and muffin, wondering what just hit me)
Conclusion: Is there any doubt, Betty Rules! Coy, nice, mysterious, flirtatious, she's all that you want in a worker. I will miss her.
Todd out.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #20--8/14/96
Time 10:22 a.m.
Smell: Freshly cooked bacon, the aroma quite strong, but the bacon nowhere in evidence.
Song: Stevie Wonder's plodding, supremely maudlin "I Just Called to Say I Love You."
Betty: Busy in a deserted cafe, rummaging through the drink cooler behind the dessert area. As I was getting my coffee, I heard strange gurgling noises coming from the iced tea machine. I looked over and it was unleashing cascades of tea at about 3-second intervals, much like the blob of pudding that increasingly grew out of control in "Sleeper." I walked over to Betty. She looked up and gave me a broad grin as I said "Your iced tea machine is..." That was as far as I got. Betty's eyes widened, her facial expression assumed panic mode and she instinctively finished my sentence "...RUNNING OVER???? Oooohhhh nnooo!" With catlike agility (which would be surprising in most large women, but somehow I expected it of Betty), she hustled over to the misbehaving machine, began sopping up the excess tea with her washcloth, and then jammed a large styrofoam cup under the dispenser to catch the excess.
G: Free iced tea for everyone!
B (fussing with the machine, and pointedly ignoring my good-natured request for a freebie): That's what I get for walking away....
She was so preoccupied that after standing at her register for some
30 seconds, I began walking back toward her with my coffee money. She bustled
toward me, waving her hands. "I just shoulda let you go...60 cents please."
Mini-update -- 8/13/96
I had a doctor's appointment and came in late, thus ate lunch late. As I made my way toward the exit around 3 p.m. (in a by-then deserted cafeteria), Betty looked up from cleaning the coffee machine. She treated me to a big smile as she flung out, "You have a good one, OK?" She said this to the accompaniment of Michael Jackson's "Wanna be Startin' Somethin'", the part at the end where a chorus of children are chanting what sounds like "mama say mama sah mama say-sah-sah, mama say mama sah mama say-sah-sah" over and over while Michael squeals in the background. For a moment, I imagined the video--a rainbow coalition of adorable urchins singing and dancing on a city street, with Michael off to one side snarling and grabbing his crotch but the spotlight on Betty, clad in her cafeteria uniform, head flung back in joyous rapture, expertly executing some complicated dance moves.
Agent Weekes out
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #21--8/21/96
Time: 10:49 a.m.
Song: Something from the '70s with horns; a cross between Elvin Bishop and Blood, Sweat & Tears.
Smell: A faint underpinning of Pine Sol in humid air (the a.c. did not seem to be running at peak capacity).
Scene: A beehive of activity, with the first lunch shift less than 45 minutes away. Enjoy was natty in his new executive ponytail, standing in front of the soft pretzel machine. Holding a tray containing several pretzels, he stared intently through the open door of the slowly revolving machine, waiting for the right moment when he could insert a fresh pretzel into one of the few remaining niches. I was reminded of a heron standing in the shallows of a pond, patiently scanning the water for a frog or fish before striking with its bill.
Betty: Crisp in new dark green shirt, she was in an authoritative mood. "They keepin' ya busy, Johnny?" she asked one guy wearing the catering crew's modified tuxedo shirts. Although the guy barely mumbled a response, she reassuringly said, "That's good." as "Sandwich Lady" Natalie trundled by pushing her towering cart loaded with bread, lunch meat, condiments and other tools of her trade. As I walked up to the coffee machine Betty beamed, "How are we doing today?" as reliably as the incoming tide. Then as I approached her register, she was giving instructions to Enjoy's retreating back (rather like a mother talking to her kid as he ignores her while flying up the stairs to his bedroom). I thought I might have to wait until she was finished talking to give her my money, but instantly a large, open-palmed hand appeared at my side. I momentarily thought of places that hand might travel to, but brushed the nasty thought away as Betty said, "Thank you," not once, but twice.
Conclusion: Betty is indisputably the glue that holds this tightly knit operation together.
Newsflash: Claudette seen lurking around during the lunch rush one day last week. Perhaps returned to survey her former empire. In true Claudette fashion, she looked right through me as I passed by.
Agent Weekes out.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #22--9/3/96
Time: 10:27 a.m.
Temperature: Felt like 78 degrees...and humid. Vaguely uncomfortable.
Smell: Indeterminate.
Song: England Dan and John Ford Coley's incredibly sappy and altogether execrable "I'd Really Love to See You Tonight."
Betty: She was meticulously arranging individual soft drinks in the Coke cooler, something she seems to love doing to the detriment of her other, more pressing duties. Already in a foul mood because I had just had an attack of the squirts and because it was the first day back to work after a 3-day weekend, I felt my blood pressure rapidly rising as I was standing at Betty's register while her back was to me, as she continued the interminable process of filling the cooler. Momentary diversion was provided as Enjoy wandered by, pushing a cart containing large vats of salad dressings. As England Dan and Coley harmonized wimpily with that pallid guitar in the background, Betty finally turned to look toward her register. She saw one guy head toward it, began the slow turn around, and then saw me waiting. She smiled (as if that would exonerate her sins!), quickened her step and bustled over. The following conversation ensued:
B (grinning): You forgot to yell at me!
G (engaging in exaggerated arm motions) Well, I was afraid you would start flinging those cans around.
B (loud throaty laughter, most delicious): Oh, I wouldn't hit ya...I promise.
Conclusion: Betty partially saved the day with her customer skills, but I can't help but feel that she deliberately sets up these situations where she remains in control. It's a power play, and this grumpy, caffeine-starved office drudge didn't appreciate it.
Agent Weekes out.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #23--9/13/96
Time: 9:54 a.m.
Smell: Crisp and clean, like they had finally gotten rid of the lingering breakfast odors.
Song: Something by Michael Bolton, riotously histrionic. (Music footnote: Yesterday morning as I got coffee A. Morisette's "You Learn" was on, quite loud. My first hearing of Alanis in the cafe. As I was walking out she launched into her mid-tune "Ay-yi-yi" yapping, which was clearly audible to the stone-faced group of Carto people hunched around some pulled-together tables for a meeting. How long will it be before "Connection" disrupts a Graphics get-together?)
Betty: Pouring on the customer service juice for a group of people who didn't look familiar and who well may have been guests in the building. As a young woman with long frizzy black hair searched endlessly in her purse for the change she needed, Betty stood waiting patiently with hand outstretched, never once showing annoyance that it was taking so long. (I, on the other hand, would normally have been quite annoyed, but sensing a cafe update in the making, I was content to hold back and observe.) Betty was clucking maternally as the woman continued to search (I couldn't hear what was being said) and as she finally produced the needed currency with an embarrassed shake of her head. An overweight younger guy in front of me, also unfamiliar, had a bagel balanced on top of the lid of his coffee cup. Betty said "Bagel," and he immediately added "Coffee!" in an anxious tone. Unruffled, Betty cooed, "Oh, and coffee too?" Then she said in her throaty baritone, "Have you tried one of our specialty creams?" (the use of "our" was a delicious touch, as of course the "specialty creams" in question can be bought wherever food is sold). At the same time she waved her hand toward the coffee machine, like the gals on "The Price is Right" who waved over the living room set or 21-inch color TV that was about to be bid on. Then she leaned forward and breathed softly (as if confiding a state secret), "I found Kahlua at 7-11--it's the only place I've been able to find it." The guy nodded in wonder.
By the time she got to me, all Betty had left was a standard "thank you," although she put the emphasis on the second word, as if I were doing her a special favor.
Conclusion: "A PR whiz!" I thought to myself, trudging toward the exit and again grateful for the lack of unpleasant smells. Over and out.
Agent Weekes out.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #24--9/?/96
Time: 10:26 a.m.
Smell: Sharply pungent of vinegar. Unsettling at this early hour.
Song: Human League's "I'm Only Human"
Scene: Utterly deserted. Seizing upon this opportunity, I had a real heart-to-heart with....
Betty: Vaguely provocative in a casual blue-gray shirt unbuttoned several buttons down. She wandered toward me as I was filling my coffee cup. I tried to keep my eyes off her ample cleavage as I asked (in an exaggerated tone): "Where is everybody?" Betty looked at me quizzically, as if she had just realized there was indeed no one in the cafe, then threw up her hands in a gesture of resignation. But she immediately followed up with, "Maybe some of them are at the climate survey?" I nodded in agreement, inwardly marveling at her innate perceptiveness --climate survey meetings are indeed under way. Then I popped the question I had been dreading to ask. I haven't mentioned this, but Barbara has been conspicuously absent the last 2 weeks and I was afraid she had left. The following exchange ensued:
G (hesitantly): I've been meaning to ask you...has Barbara left?
B (big grin): Oh no... she's been on vacation and will be back Monday.
G: Well, when you don't see people you wonder if they've left, but you don't know until you ask.
B: Well, I certainly have missed her (emphasizing the "I").
I couldn't figure out whether Betty was being legitimately sincere about having to do double cafeteria duty in Barbara's absence. She probably was, although given Babs' less-than-lightning rapidity at the checkout line, I can't imagine why.
We proceeded to her register.
B: I'm outta here in December.
G: Great! Are you going somewhere exciting?
B: No--I'm going to Cleveland to see family. My great-grandmother will be 94 years old (I start doing mental calculations to try and figure out about how old that makes Betty.) She still gets around and her mind is very good.
G: Maybe you'll get snowed in up there and you can stay longer.
B (smiling, flustered): Oh noooo, no, they wouldn't let me stay any longer." (I liked Betty's sly analogy to Big Brother, and to myself thought, "Fuckers.")
Betty gave me change for a 5, carefully spreading out the ones so I knew she had returned the correct amount, and then offered a final shot of customer service juice as I retreated toward the condiment bar: "Thank you so much for asking about Barbara."
I trudged out, valuing anew my close bond with Betty, as Barbara's ascending-scale trill of "Soouuupppp?" reverberated in my head.
Weekes over and out.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #25--9/17/96
Time: 9:31 a.m.
Temperature: Blessedly cool, because the rest of the building seems uncomfortably fetid this morning.
Song: A prototypically wretched '70s pop-soul number, "You're the Biggest Part of Me."
Scene: A line to get at the coffee, as a squat older blond was parked in front of the silo, pouring everything but China into a styrofoam cup, oblivious to the logjam she was creating. To curb my rising annoyance, I listened in on Jan B---(directly in front of me), who just returned from a week out west and was talking to someone about the woman who cuts her hair. (She had a new trim that makes her look just like Mickey Rooney in profile if you imagine that the longer back part is gone.) The following musical conversation ensued as we moved toward Betty's register:
G: Jesus, who is this--Ambrosia?
J (quizzically, like she's not sure): You could be right.
G (facetiously): It's giving me a violent headache.
J (equally facetiously): But it's such a toe-tapper!
G: True, but it's still giving me a violent headache.
J: It makes ya wanna go out and buy a 45.
G: One that doesn't cost more than 79c.
J: That's right buddy.
Then, calling out over her shoulder as she's walking away after giving Betty her money: "And putting a stack of dimes on top of the needle to keep it from skipping." (I'm laughing inwardly at this bon mot, having weighed down a cartridge arm many times myself.)
Throughout this rapid-fire exchange (which only took about 15 seconds or so), I noticed that Betty was listening intently. When she took my money she looked at me and in a confidential tone asked, "What department does she work in (parenthetical pause) ....I've often wondered?"
G (realizing I never know exactly what department Jan is associated
with) GIS. (Immediately realizing this is the wrong answer, but that's
where her office
space recently moved)
B (perking up considerably): Oh really?
G: No--actually it's more like Research and Development.
B (sagely): Uh huh.
Conclusion: Betty's obvious interest in Jan B---- provides a new wrinkle for fantasy exploration. I plan on trying to work B---- into some of my future tete-a-tetes with Betty as opportunity permits. Stay tuned.
Agent Weekes
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #26--9/27/96
Time: 9:39 a.m.
Song: Endless commercials on Magic 107.7. A major drag.
Smell: I always make it down too late to catch any of the post-breakfast rush odors. At this time of the morning it's soulessly antiseptic.
Betty: Definitely flustered, although there was practically no one in the cafeteria. When I approached the registers, Betty was huddled at her register with the current second in command (not Barbara, who never seems to appear until lunchtime). Because they were deep in conversation (or rather Betty instructing and the other girl listening), I went to the opposite register. I waited, and waited, of course starting to get annoyed, until Betty called out, "I'll take you over here!" As I walked over, she said "You're just standing there, all alone...." to which I responded a bit curtly, "Well, I didn't know which register I was supposed to go to." When Betty returned my change, she fumbled badly, dropping it all over the floor. I suddenly felt both my hands grabbed in a warm, doughy embrace, even though the change had already scattered. I noticed Betty's wispy new perm as I bent down to start picking it up, and she pointed to one coin that was in a particularly hard spot to reach, saying, "Over there." I said, "I know--you just want to get out of here." Betty shook her head, saying "No...no...no..." and cryptically leaving it up to me to decide whether she really wanted to not be there or was just kidding. "Two can play this sarcasm game," I thought to myself as I said with a touch of snideness, "Yeah, right."
As I was doctoring my coffee, she called out again, "Is this yours?", indicating a note pad, calendar and pen sitting by one of the empty middle registers. When I shook my head no, she muttered, "Who left all this paperwork?" She scooped it up and waddled off with it toward the cafeteria exit. She was about halfway there when a tall gentleman hailed her and said "Ma'am?" in a slightly annoyed tone (e.g., "Where the fuck are you going with my stuff?") Betty whirled around, girlishly said "Oh!" and, without apologizing for carrying the guy's things off trilled brightly, "A refill? That'll be 75c for ya!"
Conclusion: Chinks in the to-date seamless armor? I don't think so. Maybe she just got up late this morning and hadn't shaken it off yet.
Weekes out.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #27--10/23/96
Time: 10:46 a.m.
Smell: Oddly, a faint odor of simmering lima beans.
Song: Yowling Stevie Wonder, but I couldn't identify the tune. If I had to guess, I'd say something from the early '80s that made the R 'n' B charts but not the pop charts.
Betty: A dynamo, and a delight. As I approached the coffee silo, she
was showing some guy around, waving her arm toward various facets of the
operation, and stopping at her beloved drink cooler to deftly rearrange
a
few bottles. She spied me, then gave me a a sly coded smile, sort of
a "just between you and me" look. When I reached her register, she was
ringing up H-- Y--, who was purchasing a bran muffin that bore a marked
resemblance to a dog turd in the shape of a mushroom cap. Betty fumbled
the change, warmly croaking "I'm sorry, I apologize about that," as Y--
laboriously stooped down to retrieve the coin. Then she followed up brightly
with "Well, at least you got your exercise," astutely ignoring the fact
that it would take much more than one creakily executed squat to shape
up H--.
Feeling compelled to say something, I volunteered, "It's such a beautiful
morning!" Betty immediately seconded me with a heartfelt "Oh, it's gorgeous!"
As I walked away, she called out, "Did you give me a dime?" Almost
positive I had given her the required 60 cents, I nevertheless fished another
dime out of my pocket and said "Here, take this one." Suddenly Betty cried
"Oh there it is!" and with an agility that shamed H--'s beached whale acrobatics,
she dropped to her feet and plucked it off the floor. I said "I thought
I gave you one--I have the 60 cents bit down pat," to which Betty replied
"I know--that's why I wasn't concerned." As I walked off, I heard her excitedly
talking to her next customer about some new Disney ride.
Conclusion: Betty rules. Over and out.
Agent Weekes reporting.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #30--4/25/97
Time: 10:38 a.m.
Temperature: Just cool enough
Smell: Antiseptic, but without the lingering undercurrent of Pine Sol or wet washcloths. A nice change.
Song: R. Kelly's schlocky, over-the-top r 'n' b ballad "I Believe I Can Fly," from "Space Jam."
Betty: In hyper-space customer service overdrive today. First, as I approached the coffee silo, I didn't see her. Then, as I shifted slightly to the left, she was on the other side of the island, silhouetted between the coffee silo and the glass shelves holding the creamers. She was holding a cylindrical metal object about a foot long up to her eye. She peered through it, reminding me of a pirate squinting into a telescope. Then she blew into it, as if she were playing a flute. Satisfied, she nodded to herself slightly. Suddenly it became clear to me: She had extracted some inernal gizmo from the innards of the coffee machine, and she had been cleaning it. The coffee had stopped sloshing about three-quarters of the way to the top of my cup, and as I held it aloft she bounded up her stepstool with a few catlike steps, wiped off the top of the coffee machine with a couple of sweeping motions, looked down at me and suddenly announced (not a word on my part), "It is an exceptional morning!"
All I could stammer in response was, "Would you look at that! The coffee ran out." Betty immediately responded "Regular or decaf? Over there," gesturing to the other silo near the desserts.
I went over to that silo, filled the cup, and went back to the first one to get the creamer. I repeated her opening remark, "It really is an exceptional morning," but it was a weak attempt that I couldn't manage to make sound genuine. Betty sensed this, so she didn't even reply, instead walking away from me with a bit of an insouciant swagger, which made her trusty washcloth sway from side to side in her hand. I was righteously put in my place.
The following conversation ensued at her register:
G: Were you ever able to get the cinnamon hazlenut creamer?
B: Oh no. (patiently explains that their supplier doesn't carry hazlenut in the right size). But we are going to get a cappuccino machine in here on a trial basis.
G: I like the sound of that.
B: And it won't cost any more than your coffee (pointing at my cup).
Betty then guided me toward the cafeteria windows, describing her plan for an awning that would cover half of the outdoor patio, providing both sun and shade depending on your preference. When I sounded off with my standard complaint of not being able to sit in the direct sun because of the fierce heat, Betty deflected my whine with a big grin and the observation "It's fun on casual day, but not in work attire."
I was still marveling at Betty's pr skills as she called out, "You have a good one, and we'll try to fix things up for ya." As Pat Schardin lumbered up, I heard her say "Can't decide? Just have a look around," as if the meager chips-and-muffins morning offerings were a cornucopia of delights. All to the refrain of R. Kelly's dizzying crescendo of "I can fly, I can fly, I can fly, I can flyyyyyyyyyy.....", seconded by the falsetto female chorus. A cafeteria experience from which I am still recovering.
Agent Weekes, over and out.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #31--5/2/97
Time: 9:19 a.m.
Temperature: Pleasantly cool.
Song: Foreigner's hysterically caterwauling "I Want to Know What Love Is," followed by the '70s smarm of "You're the Biggest Part of Me." A double shot of bathos.
Smell: Pancake syrup, quite strong.
Scene: Betty was not at her register. I stood at the current second in command's register, behind a gal who took an endless amount of time fishing through her purse for a small mountain of change, like trying to pay for a refrigerator with nickels. She was attempting to pay for an array of plastic forks, napkins and other accessories. Her squat, mannish companion, outfitted in jeans and casual vest, stood by waiting, occasionally punctuating the protracted exchange with comments like, "We're havin a parrrty," "God this coffee's strong" and "Ya need any money, hon?"
Through all this I was thinking "Where the fuck is Betty?" assuming she was pulling another power ploy by deliberately not being available. Suddenly she appeared with a bag full of plastic forks. She cut in front of me, ignoring me completely, and stood watching as the hapless girl continued to struggle to produce enough pocket change to pay for the items. I detected a slight whiff of smoke (???) as I examined the short ringlets of Betty's perm (her hair's been straight all week). Finally, after what seemed like an interminable passage of time, the purchases were rung up. Betty then leaned toward the second in command and whispered "You didn't ring those up at a discount did you?" and she immediately shot back "No," with a sort of "What kind of fool do you take me for?" expression on her face. Betty then launched into a technical explanation of why these cheap items shouldn't be discounted, using cost overrun terminology I didn't understand. I pondered anew the cafe mania for nickel and diming you to death--charging for lemons, paying full price for disposable plastic utensils--as the smooth schlock of "You're the Biggest Part of Me" continued to wash over my eardrums.
Agent Weekes over and out.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #32 -- Special Report--5/5/97
PROLOGUE: Before stopping at the cafe, I took a letter to the mail room to see if the postage I had on the envelope was sufficient. Heading back down the empty corridor I was approached by the Hispanic spitfire, the current leader of the elite catering corps, the squad who fix up the Blue Room for special lunches. (She's the one who once told me that I had so much Oriental fried rice piled on my plate from the Get It and Go station that she was going to have to charge me for an order and a half. Barbara intervened, inspected my plate closely, said with a flicker of disgust, "Let it go," and waved me away.)
Dressed in her faux tux outfit, she had a determined expression and was pushing an empty cart at a breakneck pace, creating a horrendous clatter that echoed in the sterile hallway. I was briefly reminded of the scene in the movie "Jacob's Ladder" where Tim Robbins hallucinates that the hospital gurney he's lying on is descending into hell, as the doctor and orderlies pushing him become ever more demonic looking and the gurney starts passing body parts lying on the hall floor. (Is this a Monday morning parable??) In the cafeteria parallel, the demented staff pushes empty carts through labyrinthine hallways littered with the remains of some of their more unappetizing culinary offerings.
I dismissed the movie's nightmarish imagery from my mind, but it was reinforced moments later as I paused to examine the display table outside the cafe doors. Today's Get It and Go selection -- "Two (2) soft tacos, refried beans and toppings - $3.00"--was on view, and the glop of refried beans looked uncomfortably like a light-colored dog turd that had been stepped on but that had still retained its shape. I tried not to think about what the beans would look like after sitting there for 2 hours.
Time: 11:18 a.m.
Smell: Redolent of the spicy ground beef mixture used as a taco filling. Unsettling. Barbara, who was arranging olives on top of one of the prepared salads (potato?) nodded as I moved quicky past.
Song: "I Can See Clearly Now," not the '72 Top 40 radio original but the unnecesary remake, also by Johnny Nash I believe. Someone has a stranglehold on the adult contemporary station.
Scene: The inauguration of the cappuccino machine. Importantly sitting next to the regular coffee dispenser, it already had a hand-lettered "Out of Order" sign stuck on it. Upon closer inspection, though, I discovered that only one of the three choices was out of order.
Betty: Bustling. I approached her and asked: "Is the cappuccino machine broken?"
B: No. Only amaretto isn't working. French vanilla and Irish creme are.
G: You tell me. Which should I get, cappuccino or regular coffee?
B: Try it (gesturing toward the cappuccino machine). She grabs a mini styrofoam cup and holds it under the dispensers. "Which one?"
G: French vanilla.
B (squirts some froth into the cup): It's too sweet for me, so I add regular coffee. (moves cup over and adds a shot of regular coffee). There. See if you don't like that better.
We proceed to her register.
G: Here's two quarters and a dime, but I also wanted to get rid of these pennies.
B: Give me five and I'll give you a nickel back!
I agreed and left happy. However, the cappuccino is terrible, so I'll probably stick to regular coffee.
Weekes out.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #33--5/8/97
Time: 10:15 a.m.
Song: "In the Middle of the Night," preceded by "You're My Shining Star." (Unsure of titles or performers - if it's not from the 60's or 70's, forget it). But the theme here is definitely night-sky.
Smell: Nothing overwhelms the senses this morning.
Scene: Betty is messing about with the plastic lids next to the coffee machine. Brief "How are you Kathy?" to me but she was engrossed with her task. She always calls me by my name. I get hot water for my tea bag brought from home. A couple of plastic lids fall to the floor and I pick them up for her. Thought it might be harder for her because of her size.
B: Oh, that's okay - they're going to be thrown out anyway.
On to the register to pay for my little container of half and half. Someone else also is waiting and Betty follows quickly behind me to take care of us. The other person is buying a soda. Who drinks soda in the morning?
I hand Betty my dime. I can never remember the charge. Earlier this week I thought it was 15 cents; today I knew it was less but I thought it was 10 cents.
K: I can never remember the price of this.
B: It's a nickel. If you get a cream or a lemon, it's 5 cents. If you get 2 creams it's 10 cents (no price break on quantities I guess). I expected a complete run-down of prices at that point, but she stopped.
I had a lot of things in my hand - papers, a heavy mug, the half and half and 2 packets of Equal, so I had no time to dilly-dally.
Still trying to remember who did those songs.
Agent Nemaric out.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #34--5/9/97
Time: 9:34 a.m.
Smell: Again, a very strong aroma of syrup; it's like someone spilled an institutional tin of pancake syrup and it's going to take weeks for the odor to disappear.
Music: Spin Doctors, "Little Miss Can't Be Wrong."
Scene: There always seems to be a heightened energy buzz in the cafe on Fridays, for obvious reasons. Casually clad ----'ers were buzzing in and out of the cafe door, mugs in hand, to get their morning coffee. As I approached the first coffee silo I heard Betty, looking somewhat frazzled in an ice-blue shirt, call out (from behind the machine): "Amedor! I'm lookin' for soup lids. You know, the little ones." The object of her inquiry was Amedor, a middle-aged Hispanic man with a pencil moustache who recently, if I'm not mistaken, was voted best-liked employee in some cafe recognition program. He was wiping off the glass case holding the creamers and his heavily accented response was unintelligible to me. It must have been to Betty also, because she repeated "lids...lids!" with just a touch of annoyance.
The coffee gave out just before my cup was filled so I decided to tell Betty. And, taking a cue from Agent Nemaric, I decided to address her by name (she doesn't yet know mine). I rounded the island to the back side, where Betty was still trying to make Amedor understand what she was looking for and where it might be. I stood for a moment and then said "Betty..." Betty, whose back was to me, whirled around quickly at the sound of her name, like she had no idea who was addressing her. Seeing me, she gave a smile of recognition and said "How're we doin?" I informed her that the coffee was out and she nodded "Gooood...thank you...go fill it up at the other one," gesturing toward the far island. I've decided I'm going to address Betty by name until she asks for mine.
At the register, Betty said "Sixty...thank YOU!" Then I heard her pouring on the customer service juice to the guy behind me, who may have been a maintenance worker. "Little one feelin' better?" she cooed, followed by, "Let's see...we've got Mother's Day coming up..." As I left the condiment area, I heard Marcia's voice wail plaintively from the grill area: "Betty, have you got the time?" Betty immediately responded "Seventeen of ten," while I again noted her careful use of exact time measurements.
Agent Weekes out.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #38--5/20/97
Time: 9:10
Smell: Sticky-sweet mixture of syrup and coffee sweetner.
Like an IHOP
around 2 am.
As I turn the corner into the long hallway that begins the buffet-style
setup of our generic bottom-of-the-building cafe, I notice two construction
workers from outside (they're constructing an indentical building to ours
next door) already soiled and sweating from their activities. One
wears jeans and a t-shirt, the other wears a t-shirt tucked into jeans
shorts that are so tight he looks like a lost member of the Village People.
"YMCA" begins to circle in my head. They are
both staring at the petite menu, which holds all the finger foods any
weight-conscious exec would want: muffins, bagels, orange juice and
croissants.
Worker 1: (Squinting at the menu and adjusting his bandana) What
kind of
fucking breakfast is this?
Worker 2: (Scratches his black arm): I got no idea man.
I pass them as they are preparing extra-large cokes at the fountain dispenser.
I grab a banana (piled phallically on a plate) and approach the register.
A new employee is two people in front of me. She has Farrah
Fawcett
'70s wings and round glasses, which she is rubbing on her shirt.
She
begins to talk to the girl in front of me.
"God, I'm used to the cold up North where your glasses fog when you
go
outside. Now they fog when I come in. (Without missing
a beat) "Are
those muffins chocolate or some sort of bran?"
Pat, our petite Betty, is wearing white shirt and apron with those white
shoes nurses wear. Her blonde-dyed hair is showing brown at the
middle
part. She's holding an order pad, poised at any moment to take
some
mythical order for the kitchen.
"They're chocolate."
I don't hear the rest of the conversation because a loud voice booms
from
within the kitchen. Through the tile wall that conceals the kitchen
is a server's slit, where the workers pass the orders through. The
tyrannical Indian cafe owner, whose name is Ramki I believe, is berating
an employee who is out of my line of sight. Ramki has a knife raised
with a huge glop of some white substance, probably cream cheese which he
is about to spread on some hapless piece of bread. "DON'T TOAST THE
BREAD BEFORE THE EGGS ARE DONE" he yells to the poor worker. "Okay,
okay" I hear muttered from the bowels of the kitchen. Satisfied,
Ramki lowers the knife and deposits the gook. Their is very little
pretense of good pr here, unlike the --- cafeteria, which like a good sitcom,
hides any incidences of strife.
Bravely, I order a bagel with cream cheese from Pat, who calls me hon. As I wait for my order, the only tv in the cafe is complete with subtitles. Geraldo is confronting some sort of killer:
Ger: C'mon man. C'mon. I mean you loaded the gun,
you took the gun to
her house and you shot her. How can you say that?
The "killer" is a skinny guy wearing an open-collar shirt and looking
sleepless:
Well, I'm just telling you it wasn't that simple. She'd told
me we'd be together forever...
By that time Pat waddles over holding aloft a small brown bag, with my order neatly wrapped. She presented it to me with arms at full length, like she was holding a bag of radiation. "Here ya go, hon."
I exited to the lobby, complete with Palm trees and Muzak, wondering
if that worker will make it through the day, if the construction workers
will make it to lunch, and missing Betty.
Agent Deery reporting.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #40--5/22/97
Time: 9:48
Smell: The syrupy overtone is still overpowering. Can't imagine what it must be like during the morning rush.
Songs: Annie Lennox's rollicking "Walking on Broken Glass," followed by Journey's anguished ballad that begins "When the lights go down in the city...." (the name escapes me at the moment).
Chef's Soup of the Day: Knickerbocker bean
At the Deli: "The Italian Scallion," salami, pepperoni, provolone and Italian dressing on a mini baquette (sic); $3.55
Scene: I decided to display my security ID badge, per the plan outlined in C.U. #39. I carefully clipped it to my front shirt pocket before entering the cafeteria. As I approached Betty's register, I felt self-conscious (my badge is never on view; it's always thrust into the innermost recesses of a pocket)--almost as if I were sporting a hunk of raw meat to lure back a skeptical lion that had escaped from its cage.
Betty (wearing her dark green shirt) looked at it, but didn't bite this time. "Sixty cents!" she said brightly, taking my proffered dollar with both hands. "One more day until the weekend," I said (somewhat lamely, but I was still a bit tense with expectation).
"Ohhhhhhh I know," she grinned. Then she looked squarely at me and said, "Isn't it a full moon?"
G: Yes--there's been one all week.
B: I thought so. I could tell because people's attitudes are just....
G (finishing her sentence): A little bit crazy (exaggerated hand gesture).
B (mischievous giggle): Riiight. You have a good one.
With that she sauntered back to the bottled drink cooler.
Conclusion: Betty's apparent interest in the astrological merits further investigation. And was her full moon remark an oblique commentary on the fact that my badge was on the outside of my shirt for the first time? Hard to tell, but that sense of mystery is what makes Ms. P---- such a delight. Steve Perry's mournful "ooooohh, ooooohh eoooooohhh," followed by a numbingly predictable guitar break, accompanied me out the door.
Agent Weekes out.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #49--6/?/97
Time: 10:37
Temperature: Mercifully cool, considering the blazing heat outside.
Song: Blues Traveler's "Runaround," quite loud--John Popper's squawking harmonica was blasting through the cafe.
At the Grill: "Oom Pah Pah" -- Corned beef & Swiss cheese w/ coleslaw on pumpernickel bread $2.85
Scene: As I entered the back area, Barbara plunked down the first container of the day--a gloppy-looking macaroni salad--on a clean bed of shaved ice. I decided that Barbara is the salad bar queen--it's her job to set up that whole area. She was going about her task with a characteristic tight-lipped, grim expression, as if she were serving out a sentence doing time in the prison cafeteria (her drab outfit even looked like standard prison blues).
I passed the cappuccino machine, which was broken AGAIN--some guy was rooting around inside it. Betty was on top of her stepladder, peering into the top of the coffee silo. Then I heard scraping noises. With so much commotion going on, I moved to the other silo, where I noticed that a napkin on which the word "Decaf" was scribbled had been helpfully stuck behind one of the machine's dispenser levers.
Betty didn't seem to be in the mood to indulge in pleasantries this morning. Casual in denim shirt, she sauntered up to her register. I said "So close--I have 57 cents." "That's good," she replied absently, popping a stick of gum into her mouth. "No wait--I have a dollar, " I said. Betty did give me a warm "Thank YOU!" along with the change. As I moved to the condiment bar, she whipped out her walkie talkie. "Go ahead Betty," crackled a voice at the other end (Marcia's?). Like a harried NASA flight chief on launch day, she leaned against her register, one hand on hip, and queried, "There's only one onion bagel left--will that be enough?" Following a barrage of static, the disembodied voice intoned, "OK, you say there's only one onion?"
"One onion bagel," Betty corrected. "I was wondering if we needed more."
I had forgotten the amaretto creamer for my coffee, so I went back to get some and missed the rest of the conversation.
As I exited through the back area, I saw that Barbara had already set out the carrot sticks, cucumber slices, cherry tomatoes and the cole slaw in addition to the macaroni salad. She was well on her way to creating another salad spread for lunchers who would begin trudging through the cafe doors in less than an hour.
Agent Weekes, over and out.
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #50--6/20/97
Time: 10: 30
Song: Some harmonica-infused tune that I vaguely recognize. It seems I remember it from when my son was watching MTV. As I recall from the video, the young man singing could benefit from a Lakeside Cafe Dieter's Special!
Temperature: It's ALWAYS hot in here. Isn't anyone else hot, or is it just me?
Scene:
Once again, Barbara has set a grim tone for the day with the silent-yet-resentful way she bangs things around on the salad bar. I must say I'm getting rather tired of it! She must understand that Cafeteria Management is a ladder-climbing business and she must pay her dues like the rest of us did. Maybe if she'd learn to clean up those mayonnaise spatters more quickly, she'd move up a notch or two in the organization! But I suppose I have my "off" days as well... and Barbara's hair IS looking rather smart today. I must compliment her! I'll do that right after I figure out what's wrong with this gol-durned cappucino machine. I'll be glad when this silly appliance is gone for good!
Personally, I think our REGULAR coffee is delicious -- especially with one of our new specialty creams! I just wish those pretentious yuppies thought it was good enough for their hifalutin' tastes. Next thing you know, they'll be clamoring for the Lakeside Cigar & Martini Bar! Thank goodness for our company's sensible no-smoking policy!
Oh wait, here comes that nice young man Weekes. I suppose he'll want to have another exchange of pleasantries... but I certainly don't want to encourage him! I hope he knows I'm happily married. Maybe I'll flash my wedding ring a little longer when he buys his coffee to discourage any funny ideas he might have about luring me away from my devoted husband! I must say, however, that I do enjoy the attention he's been lavishing on me in the last year or so. I can't believe it took him more than seven years to say my name out loud! My heart flutters at the very thought of it.
Dear me, we're running low on onion bagels. If Miss High-and Mighty Marcia spent more time out here in the trenches, she'd know that our loyal customers absolutely ADORE onion bagels. Of all the nerve to question my judgment! Does she think I'm going to offer people cinnamon-raisin bagels instead? Harrumph! She needs to stop relying on that walkie-talkie and come see what we deal with on a daily basis!
My, my... I guess Barbara's mood really has rubbed off on me today! I think I'll go back to the break room and put my feet up for a spell. (Sigh..) I wonder if G--- is bringing cantaloupe or honeydew for lunch today??
Agent Anthony, over and out
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CAFETERIA UPDATE #64
TIME: 5:24 p.m.
SOUNDS: Something by the Tijuana Brass, again as musak, barely audible
above the violent hubbub of a steamy multitude of July tourists.
LOCATION: The Old Post Office Pavillion at 13th and Pennsylvannia in
D.C.
- In front of the counter of the trendy, upscale eatery, "Indian Food."
WEATHER: It's a bazillion degrees and the air is liquid.
BETTY: The role of Betty will be played today by a rapidly moving,
very sweaty, very skinny Indian man with frightened eyes. She (he) is darting
back and forth ladling dollops of questionable vegetable concoctions onto
Styrofoam trays.
B: "What for you?"
T: "Betty, you seem out of sorts."
B: (A moment of hesitation) "OK, Bhatgain." (Betty's brown and hairy
fingers flick convulsively)
T: "What's that, Betty?"
B: "Egg-u-plat coo-ree." A bead of sweat dangles from Betty's nose,
but only for a moment. In a rapid motion it is flung into space, eventually
landing in a fat woman's lentil soup. The splash down goes unnoticed.
"Wha-chew want for you?"
T: "Betty, it's me!" I plead.
B: "And what for drink?"
CONCLUSION: Betty is as changeable as the winds. Ahh, the many moods
of Bette.
NEXT TIME: Satellite Surveillance
Agent Thorax out
CAFETERIA UPDATE #66--7/18/97
TIME: 8:29 am
SOUND: The clicking of my shoes in a large, empty, bright white hallway to the accompaniment of the low throb of florescent bulbs. Not unlike a half dozen tunes by the German supremacist all electric band "Kraftwerk."
SMELL: Very little beyond the telltale odor of cleaning solution.
WEATHER: There is no weather in a place like this.
BETTY: Or rather "In Search of Betty." A combination of crew-cutted military types and socially awkward scientists eye me suspiciously. This is the Computer Image Enhancement facility at the Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Maryland. I'm here to observe Betty in her native habitat using the most powerful and sophisticated surveillance equipment in the world.
The guard asks for and receives my drivers license as proof of my identity. He then asks who I'm here to see. I say "Betty." "Betty who?" he says. I don't know.
A few minutes later in the guards office another higher ranking guard asks me why I've come to the facility. I answer truthfully that I've come to see Betty from space. Only I pronounce "space" in such a way as to make it sound more like "spice" and drag out the final "s" sound for several seconds. This guard, who appears to be an officer, stares at me with wide eyes. I've evidently made quite an impression.
G: "How did you get in here?"
T: "I walked."
G: "And you weren't challenged by anyone in security?"
T: "You mean like challenged me to a game of 'War' or 'Double Solitaire'? I'm very good at those games. Yes, very goody good."
G: (Hesitates) "And you came here to see this Betty?"
T: "...from spic-s-s-sssssssssss." I had just told him that, what a very short memory he has.
It took a very long time but they finally decided to take me back to my car, which I had thoughtfully parked sideways on the median strip of the highway out front with the lights on and the doors open. It may be a while before I'm able to give a description of Ms. Betty from space as I've been asked not to return.
Agent Thorax out
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