Another lovely day, despite the weather forecast. It rained but not til late afternoon and not until we'd served dozens of ploughmans, quiches, ham salads and jacket spuds.
When we're busy we have a system to help us find people. We give them a numbered wooden spoon when they order, and ask them to listen out for their number to be called.
This gives rise to a number of (repeated) conversations:
I give a middle aged gent the number 18.
He says: "how did you know my age?"
I give a couple number 6.
He/she says: Is it six or nine?
I say: Hold it upside down and you might get a better order
I give a family number 42. We talk about the meaning of life. The children look bemused.
I give a man number 46. He says. That's funny, that's our house number.
Etc etc etc.
I never tire of it. People often pretend they're going to use the spoons as a weapon or they make some comment about stirring.
Today was a surprise.
I handed a woman Number 38.
"oh how funny, " she said, "that's my bra size"