
Rain fell. That was unusual. Californian July: zero precipitation. Always. And yet here it was. Not heavy, just drizzley, foggy ocean misty rain.
On the corner of Chestnut and Van Ness, the café brooded in an unambiguous mundaneness. There were more inside because of the unexpected weather – all shorts and steamy plastic macs. The few that waited at the bus stop looked longingly at the little eatery and its line of customers. Should they? Even for a take-out? Would there be time?
And in the melee by the counter, picking up a coffee and toasted sandwich, was Mrs DeLouche. She had come late for her regular, being delayed by Frou-frou, the pink and yellow-dyed poodle. Old as her mistress, and with as many medical complaints, she nevertheless dressed for the day with dandy style and aplomb. Frou-frou had been occupied by a particularly interesting smell sprayed by a thoroughly ill-behaved puppy dachshund called Maxi who had eaten lots of tasty mold-covered beets from the garbage. This information was conveyed in its entirety over the course of more than half-a minute. Frou-frou had been tugged on the leash, called naughty (and worse), and given the wagging finger and strict ultimatums. Finally, after the interest began to wane, Frou-frou permitted a continuation of their normal lunchtime route, her thoughts filled with interesting and new ideas.
Behind the counter, Alfredo did his thing: smile, request, order, smile, clarification, money, change, smile, service, smile. He was working as fast as he could, considering the backlog of newbies on top of regulars. His companion, Carrie, did the coffee and tea and any other drinks, along with service to the few tables by the large street-side windows. She smiled less, but moved with grace, occasionally tossing her long braided hair over her shoulder with such ferocity that she sometimes had to apologise to the whipped recipient. They usually didn't mind, because there was something about her that exuded charm and open-heartedness. And the guys loved her because of her un-brasierred large breasts that occasionally wobbled around in their voluminous t-shirted abode above the full table-cleared trays and milk shake deliveries.
Busy and getting busier, the two functioned as best they could, setting to their orders perfunctorily, yet with a deliberate no nonsense business-like attention. The blt sandwich, the tomato soup, the caesar salad, the tuna melt – all done one thousand times before without mix-up or deviation.
It was to Carrie that Mrs DeLouche would always first seek attention, even if the moustached Alfredo was ready to serve. Her 12:30 coffee had already been prepared, but was now too cold to be served at 12:47. Glancing over, Carrie's genuine greeting gave the cracked jowls of the elderly spinster a decidedly happy smile.
"My-my! The weather! And you wouldn't believe the trouble I've had with her this morning." She was ready to reveal the story of her umbrella-accompanied walk down Chestnut, but was interrupted. The line of newbies went through the door.
"Your usual, Mrs DeLouche? I'll do it myself." She always did it herself, but the words, the same that she had uttered yesterday and the day before, sounded like a special favour granted by the head chef.
Accidents will happen. From the counter a loose demi-baguette, complete with Avocado mayo and cheese, had been knocked off to spill its contents in a messy splat by their feet. Quickly picked up and binned, some of the more squishy contents had nevertheless found their way beneath the chill cabinet. It was upon these delicious remnants Frou-frou set to with abandon. By the time Mrs DeLouche realised what was happening, it was too late and her lunch and coffee were already in her hand.
About to wend her way past the line and out into the unseasonal weather, she noticed a young couple get up to leave. Pushing her way past a man with a long beard (she hated beards) she took the chair whilst it still had the man's jacket upon the back. Frou-frou sat beneath the table, still licking her tiny chops. Mmm... Avocado mayo really was delicious.
Mrs DeLouche said some instructional words to Frou-frou, placed her wet umbrella on the table top and opened up her take-out coffee to release the familiar lunchtime aroma. It wasn't that she disliked eating out, but with hands full of a leash, umbrella, paper bag and coffee cup, it had been a struggle to get even to this table. And, besides, privacy was privacy. Particularly when it came to eating.
Three sips in, and ready to unveil her toast, the reaction happened. Frou-frou coughed. Nothing serious; nothing but a sneeze really, but it was more than mere irritation.
"Now now, you keep quiet, you." She mumbled, looking around at the young people on the table in front of her tucking in. "There's good people in here, and they don't need you messin' up. D'ya hear?"
But Frou-frou continued the sneezing and wheezing. It progressed. Eventually, the little dog was coughing quite vigorously, and it became clear that there was either an obstruction or reaction happening.
"What's wrong, Frou-frou?" she asked, picking up the shaking coloured body of her sole companion and staring in her cloudy eyes. On her lap the quivering Frou-frou coughed some more. There was obviously a little discomfort in her breathing. She coughed again, then she spewed, without the usual gut-wrenching spasms. It was obvious, from the oily contents upon her summer blouse, that the ingredient had been avocado.
There was an audible "Iww!" from those in the line with a ring-side seat.
"What-what? What's this?" She tearfully asked, holding the dog before her, quite unable to believe the dreadful scene.
Alfredo excused himself and came over to the window with a generous handful of tissues.
"No-no-no! Not you." She remonstrated. In truth it was the moustache. "No-no– her." She indicated to Carrie with her back turned, her voice given an extra-intense crackle with the stress of it all.
Leaving the tissues, he returned to serve the customer. Carrie came over with two large pink strawberry milkshakes, delivered them and then turned her ministering attentions to the elderly woman. "Let me..." she said, taking Frou-frou from her hands. Placing her on the floor, she proceeded to gently dab the old woman's blouse to recover the sticky voided stomach contents as best she could.
"It's avocado, ain't it? That's poison – poison for dogs. Avocado kills dogs, you know? You left poison..."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mrs DeLouche." she said beautifully, with the warm tones of a Mary Magdalene. "Don't worry about it. Really. Some dogs react like that, but it doesn't kill them. Honestly."
"But I've been told. Avoid avocado. It kills 'em." She looked down, "My Frou-frou. And grapes, chocolate, the dark kind, and nuts..."
The rest of the service continued operating at half-steam. Some of those waiting gave up and left for the diner opposite, taking their dollars with them. But Alfredo knew it was all right. Carrie knew it was all right. For now, convincing an ancient regular of the mild effects of avocado toxicity in canines was more important.
"It's ok. She's fine now. Look at her. She's stopped her coughing now." Indeed, the pooch was standing as usual, without so much as a trembling muscle, peering at the particularly hairy legs of the nearest customer. "Let me get you home."
Carrie took the lady's hand, her umbrella, her coffee with lid, and her carefully re-packed toast sandwich and led her outside. The three of them walked over the crossing in the lightening rain and steadily ascended back up the steep hill of Chestnut to her bow-windowed wooden house – the only painted lady on the street. When the old lady had changed and was sat in her kitchen contentedly eating with Frou-frou lying by her feeet, Carrie took the spoiled shirt back with her to later hand-wash, and prepared to busy herself finishing the service. Firmly closing the door, she rhythmically jiggled as her soft feet carried her full form down hill to her regular place behind the counter.
Recent Comments