The Journey Northwards

Following on from the last post, SWMBO, myself, and two elderly lady friends of SWMBO are in my car (3.0L Subaru Legacy Estate), and heading North towards Whangamata.

Things are going great.  Gentle chatter from the ladies in the back, gentle digs to me from SWMBO (aren't you going too fast, too slow, taking corners badly, temperature too hot, too cold etc.)

We stop for lunch at Turangi, and I end up in the most confused lunch in the history of Man.

It starts off quite normally.
SWMBO and the two ladies head immediately for the toilets, and I wait outside, stretching my legs, and the enjoyment of the fresh NZ air.
We head for the cafe, one SWMBO and I used a couple of years ago.  Nothing special, but quite nice.

I head for the counter as the ladies gently bicker about which table to use.

Quick examination of the menu, easy choice.
There's a young Maori lady behind the counter waiting for our orders.

The ladies are still bickering, so I go first.
"Seafood chowder and a large flat white please"

See.  Easy.

Read the menu, decide and give the order.

The Blokes way, the Right way, the only bloody way

The right way to order in a cafe

Told you.  We blokes know what's right and wrong.

SWMBO raises her head and talks to the lady behind the counter.

SWMBO: "This is wrong"
Young Maori Lady (YML): "What?"
SWMBO: "This is wrong" *Peals a Post-it note off of the pie cabinet and shows it to the YML*
SWMBO: "You've spelled this word wrongly"
YML: "What?"
SWMBO: "You've spelled it as W H E R E, and it should be W E R E.

This would have been useful

YML: *Looks completely confused* (I can't blame her, she was expecting a food order, not a bloody spelling lesson) "What?"
TSB: *through clenched teeth* "Maybe you should give her your order my Dear"
SWMBO: "Oh . . . . (very long pause, as she's been reading the rest of the menu looking for other spelling/grammatical errors rather than trying to decide what to order) . . . even longer pause, allowing the other 2 ladies to approach.

There ensues a 5 minute discussion about the menu and the choices, interspersed with comments about the decor, the cleanliness and the failing English skills of the younger generations.



SWMBO: "I'll have the omelette please"

YML: "Omelette? "What type, plain tomato or bacon?"

SWMBO: "Yes"

YML:"What type do you want?"

SWMBO: "Tomato . . . I can't take bacon as I'm vegetarian"

Other Two Ladies (simultaneously): "Same please"

YML: "Any drinks?

All 3 ladies go back to examining the menu.

 Why on this blesséd Earth do they have to look at the menu, Tea, Coffee or a fizzy drink.  Or even nothing, which is what the coven ladies decided on.

The YML finished putting the choices into her till, then:


One Old Lady: "Bacon"

Bacon . . . Food of the Gods

YML:"What?
OOL: "Bacon" "I want bacon on my omelette"
YML looks a bit perplexed.  She looks even more perplexed when the Other Old Lady (OOL2) suddenly pipes up in a broad Dutch accent :"Salmon" "Eh vant Salmon"
YML is now hopelessly lost, and then goes into final terminal meltdown when . . .

OOL: "We want to pay separately, so we'll need separate bills please"
OOL2:"It's not reely Dutch ja know, ve Dutch don't do thet"
SWMBO:"And can we have GST receipts please"
OOL2 now pushes forward waving $50 note saying "El pey fur OOL's bacon"


Meanwhile, I am sitting quietly in a corner, having a look at the map on my Android Tablet, hoping against hope that no one will associate me with the bunch of loony women at the counter.

You can't get much dafter than that.

Sanity is finally generated by the manager sorting it out, by deleting the entire order and re-entering them as separate bills.

The meals arrive and the ladies are content, mumbling as they gum their omelettes about "quite good really" .

My seafood chowder and flat white coffee fail to arrive.
They've been lost in the confusion.

I make do with a glass of water and a biscuit, and a vow never, ever to do this again.


I should have remembered my old Army axiom.

Never Volunteer for Anything.