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.
Not Drowning, Mothering. 