Friday, July 31, 2020

The mall cafe looks only a little more crowded than usual, but the line to order is long. The workers are making mistakes. I hear other customers complaining to them about getting the wrong items and about how things were cooked. When I get to the front, the cashier takes my order in Hebrew. It’s my usual Israeli breakfast. When he has to repeat himself over the noise, he says the most critical words in English. He stumbles once: he asks me which kind of bread I want, but, once again, they only have white bread. He asks the question automatically. He’s thrown when he can’t actually offer the choice. I understand. In my own time as a bookseller, some things that we would say at the registers got hardwired into our routines. Overriding them when they changed was a challenge. When we were shutting down, the store discontinued the rewards card. I kept asking people for it. I even ended up with a pre-fab way to back out of the question as I was asking it. At the cafe, they finally call my name for my order. I carry my tray to a far table. I start to eat. There’s no knife. The handle of the fork is slightly greasy. I think of going back to the counter to get replacements, but I see that one aspect of the cafe is working well: the people who clear the tables are pouncing quickly to take trays away and disinfect the surfaces when customers leave. If I’d go to the counter and back, my lunch might disappear. I decide not to gamble. I stick with what I have. Things may be back to normal next week, unless the government decides to shut down the malls again.