Published Messenger Newspapers, Adelaide, October 2, 2002


CAFE SOCIETY OF UNDESIRABLES


A CAFE is probably not doing well when the waitress has to be asked to wipe dust off the table and afterwards she stands there taking the order and yawns in your face. The Melbourne CBD is filled with many such nameless cafes - this one overlooks Myer - whose business largely depends on providing city workers with a styrofoam coffee on the run. With an early appointment when I was in Melbourne recently, I ordered bacon on toast and coffee. The waitress appeared warmer at a distance. Up close, she was just another bored teenager with sunken eyes who disliked waiting on other people and should have been made to wear a mood badge stating Resentful or Sullen. Instead of which, her badge said Aurora. Yes, another hippy child named after a natural phenomenon, a herb or a mineral. One can only assume her parents were smoking dope at the time of the birth. Aurora slopped a wet dishrag across the table, left behind dirty smears and said nothing. She was wearing a pushup bra that failed to produce a cleavage and low hipster jeans that revealed a black G-string from behind. Eye-catching, to say the least. In late 19th century Vienna, cafes were a haven where artists and writers who lived in squalor were able to meet, read newspapers and debate. Many, of no fixed abode, gave the local cafe as their postal address. The same vibrant cafe society seems to be sadly lacking these days. There was not even a paper to buy while I waited. Office girls kept coming in for takeaway coffee. I had been waiting so long for my own coffee that I considered ringing the cafe on my mobile to put in a takeaway order Afterwards, I went to pay and the cash register showed $5. I was thinking that's not too bad even though the bacon was underdone and the toast was burnt at the edges The girl asked: "Was that one or two pieces of bacon?" "Two," I said, and she changed the bill to $7. On the back wall was a framed Vision Statement: "To understand, believe in and maintain the true meaning of HOSPITALITY so as to ensure that our industry retains an excellence in reputation." I left no tip. That evening, my son and I went to dinner at a Thai restaurant at suburban Prahran, selected at random because it was the cheapest we could find and near to where he lived. A television the size of a small removal van occupied the back corner. Mr Bean was on and it was hard to get any service or even to have a conversation above the canned laughter. The other diners seemed to be having a jolly time, though. One couple even asked to be moved closer to the TV and a group of young men glared at us because our talking was disturbing their viewing. But the final straw came from the waiter: "Sorry, sir, we do not have a licence to serve alcohol." So nice to be heading back home in Adelaide - such a civilized place by comparison.