I once lived down the road from a café that never seemed to have a single customer dining in it.
I ate there a few times. But I realised my occasional bowl of soup and a glass of wine was never going to be enough to keep the business – and all those hopes and dreams invested in it – afloat. Whenever I walked past the café, I would feel the longing eyes of the waiting staff watching me as I approached and imagined their resentment when I kept on walking.
In the end, I took to walking a different route all together, such was the desolation I felt when I saw the empty tables.
(An aside: my husband and I once trekked across a huge car park at a busy European port to eat at a small café before our ferry trip. This café had clearly never seen tourists before and we were so moved by the experience we subsequently wrote a play called ‘The People’s Café’. In the closing scene of the play, the cafe owner hears the ferry whistle blowing in the distance and whispers “Goodbye to the People’s Café!’ before turning off the lights. Moments later… the sound of a single gunshot… )
I have a similar feelings of sadness whenever I see untouched food on ‘Bring A Plate’ occasions, particularly if the food was home made. I will often end up stuffing my face with cakes and biscuits just so that the Plate Bringer doesn’t feel upset. I am selfless like that.
Also, you know that unopened bottle of wine in the fridge? It’s a tragic situation that I can’t just stand idly by and watch. No, not I.
I felt similarly haunted when I recently discovered one kind reader had nominated me for an online award and that I was languishing on a website somewhere with only two votes. It didn’t matter that voting for the main competition appeared to have already closed. The thought of my blog looking so… so… unloved was more than I could bear.
So I started harassing people on twitter to vote for me. Yes, in a competition that had already closed.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a straight forward process. I had to ask people to click on a specific link, select the alphabetised view tab and go to Page 6 to find me. It was a little like asking someone to nip down the shops to buy some milk, only to then reveal that you meant organic unpasteurised goat’s milk in a handmade glass bottle that’s only available in a specialist shop with erratic opening hours.
But after I’d solicited a few votes, the inevitable happened: I shifted gear and entered “Popularity Whore” mode. I began tweeting about Every. Single. Vote and how it had affected my ranking. I turned into some kind of monster.
For the record, I’ve gone from being ranked at #249 with three votes (one of which was mine, of course) to being ranked #65 with 47 votes (one of them still mine). At one point, I even got as high as #60. That’s page two of the “Popularity” listing, you know. Yes, PAGE TWO. However, I know you can all help me get to page one…
And yes, if you – like me – find all this begging for votes a bit awks giraffe, blame the café on the corner. Oh, and that unopened bottle of champagne in the fridge.
As the curtain closes, the sound of a single champagne cork being popped can be heard.
THE END.
Amazing what people will put themselves through for soem popularity luv.
Time to click some links
Dear God, I never realised it ran so deep. Sigh. Okay, I will go and vote for you in the competition that has now CLOSED. Even though the whole thing is tres awks giraffe.
But I’m with you on the empty cafe syndrome. There’s a new boutique in Fibrotown. I have to walk past it every single day. Have never seen anyone in there. Because it is a weird mix of yoga gear and poo-catcher pants – that’s seriously all she has. In Fibrotown. Ever wondered what people are thinking?
It’s like she’s trying to win a popularity vote that’s already closed.
Oh.
No joke, I just voted for you on that site YESTERDAY. And without being begged (or even prompted), I might add.
Glad to know my vote doesn’t matter to anyone except, well, me. Who’s winning the popularity stake now, eh? 😉
Sadness, desolation, ennui, writing plays; are you sure there isn’t into some French in there with the Estonian?
How about a Youtube clip of the whole family performing that play – Mr NDM with waxed moustache as the proprietor.
I had a similar unfrequented establishment (takeaway joint/cab office) in Brixton that turned out to be a Yardie drug front. The penny dropped when a guy walked out and a gun fell out of his jacket. That and the police raid.
The End.
Grrrrr, I’ve always wanted to use the word ennui in a post. Envy!
The voting hasn’t closed. You are still moving up the charts.
My blog, on the other hand, is languishing…
http://motherhugger.blogspot.com/
NDM, you always make me feel better. Your life is the quintessential tragi-comedy……..
I’m still stinging from the awks giraffe setup, but OK, I’ll go vote.
Voted. Yesterday. You. Are. Fucking. Hilarious
You are on page 1! And I voted. I just tend to wish people nominated me and then sulk off.
Hey,
You stole my idea. That cafe on the corner is mine! You hear. MINE!! My entire blog is dedicated to it. And yes, I voted for you but if you keep stealing my ideas I will retract that vote. Even though I love your blog…
An aside. The cafe in the next suburb next door to my last minute IGA was owned by a school dad. I went there once. Was the only customer. Possibly ever. Would always slink past. He would always see me and wave. It closed down. I still feel just a little responsible.
The End. x
… but you’re outing your true, sensitive nature. Having to gorge on the untouched ‘bring a plate’ plate so the ‘bringer’ doesn’t feel hurt? That’s me, I hate for anyone to feel excluded! I have similar feelings of guilt when faced with a house plant that has died because I left it in the front window to get some sun (being the thoughtful type, and all) but then forgot to water it. I’ve lost sleep over these things! You?
I just voted for you. You went from #47 to #45!
I have no idea what that site is up to. And I am on it. And cannot even find the addy to go and vote for myself. As you do.
I love the story of the cafe though. You’ve got a novel there…
She’s moovin’ on up, moovin’ on up…
woot woot, no. 37!!