Monday, 10 October 2011

Rad Weekend, Dude

I was buying a mocha (yeah, I'm one of those people - we can debate about it all day) today before class started. A soy mocha. Soy mochas are fabulous. Soy-anything is fabulous. I converted to soy milk earlier this year purely because I prefer its deliciously nutty flavour. I strongly urge you to try soy milk in your coffee, mocha, hot chocolate, cereal or smoothie one day soon. And by one day soon, I mean tomorrow. You will thank me for it. Or hate me for it.

Anyway. While waiting for my takeaway soy-coffee-chocolate concoction, the barista initiated conversation with me. It's not every day the coffeemaker pops their head around the coffee machine to converse with the customer. How nice of him to act like he's interested in what I got up to this weekend when he probably does not give a flying firetruck, I cynically thought.

Barista: "So how was your weekend? What did you get up to?"

My weekend was a really lazy one. Monday to Friday burnt me out. Saturday and Sunday involved sleeping in, reading Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions by Omar Barghouti, briefly skimming Ilan Pappe's A History of Modern Palestine (highly recommend both), a friend's party, seeing family, downing a few million cups of tea and cracking up at lame YouTube videos. But my short-term memory is terrible and I was unable to recount the humdrum of the past two days when suddenly inquired about it.

Me: "What I got up to? Well, hmm, if I can even remember..." I started.

Suddenly, the barista's head jolted in surprise. He looked positively taken aback. I was perplexed for a moment. Does he have a tic? He had a look of both horror and admiration plastered on his face. Before allowing me to find my thoughts and finish my sentence, he said: "Woah, wow! If you can't remember what you did on the weekend then it must have been a really great weekend!"

I laughed. Slightly awkwardly. And I stood there, waiting, internally panicking, thinking: "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh - crap, crap, crap. He probably thinks I have no recollection of my weekend because I spent it inebriated doing all sorts of ungodly stuff, when really, I can't bloody remember."

He began stirring the mocha with a funny look on his face, so I quickly returned the question and asked about his.

"Ah, it was standard," he replied.

Standard, I thought. I will definitely use that one when my memory fails me.

Walking out after what felt like a very long while, I couldn't help but think about some of the social, cultural and personal differences between us. I concluded that university or tertiary life, for him, was a little different to mine. My poor memory and his interpretation unintentionally cast me in a different light. 

Perhaps I'm naive, but I would have never interpreted a response along the lines of "I can't remember" like that. He probably thought I was partying it up like Paris Hilton, hustling like a diva or setting the roof on fire, when in reality, I was unbearably tired, had my head stuck in a book and ate breakfast at 3pm both days. How uncool would it have been if I interjected with: "Ho hum! I spent most of it sleeping and reading, actually!"...? So I said nothing. 

He should have known that really wild children never order soy mochas, anyway. They buy affogatos on the go or something. 


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