They were called “Fifties World” and booked cream teas for twenty members a few weeks ago.
They were coming on a coach from Solihull.
I had no idea what to expect. Would they be ladies and gents in their fifties. In other words, my age? Or would they arrive dressed in 1950s garb? Would we have James Dean lookalikes and big skirted girls. Would it be like Grease?
Turned out they had been in their fifties when they met years ago. Now they were mostly in their seventies but hated the idea of changing the name of the group. “I wouldn’t tell anyone I was in Seventies World” one lady told me.
Meanwhile my older son, who likes a practical joke, told me he would give me his tips if I performed a task. I must ask the next person who ordered tea at the counter to show me ID and if they couldn’t provide it I was to refuse to serve them.
I thought about it. And agreed.
A few minutes later an older man came in and asked me for two teas. Could I see some ID, please?
(All the staff were gathered just out of sight)
The gentleman told me he didn’t have any ID.
I said I was sorry but I couldn’t serve him.
He said it was ridiculous. He only wanted two teas. He asked me why he needed ID?
I kept telling him I was sorry.
He told me that trip advisor would be hearing all about it.
I told him I was sorry but that’s the way it had to be.
My son was looking at me, appalled, shocked, open-mouthed that I was going so far, too far. (A challenge is a challenge, right?).
The man walked out.
And rejoined the Fifties World group.
His performance had been Oscar worthy. My son, now aware that his mother had set him up, went to shake his hand to congratulate him.
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