"Oops, it's falling over," she says and as I glance up from looking at my cellphone to say "pardon me?", she continues, "just talking to your sandwich". The BLT was falling over as she was about to slice it in half, falling over because she had piled it quite high, higher I'm sure than what the manual says.
My son and I are at the Tim Horton's on Eramosa near Victoria, and I have just discovered the thickest, juiciest $3.99-BLT anywhere. It's made fresh by a lady who could be a retired farmer's wife, surely a grandmother, perhaps even a great-grandmother. She's the type to not skimp on the servings, store instructions notwithstanding. I'm also not a big fan of Tim's coffee but if it is served in a thick ceramic mug with the right ambience, as this lady is providing, then the coffee will taste fine, after all.
The coffee shop is busy, hardly an available table in sight, filled with kids on their March Break, twenty- and thirty-somethings taking a lunch break from the surrounding strip-plaza units of physiotherapists, insurance brokers, mortgage brokers and food franchises. A group of older farmer types, beefy and hardy-looking in their work clothes, had commandeered 4 adjoining tables; they looked like they were settling in for a long conversation.
The spring sun is out on this cloudless day and it's almost a shame to leave this mix of humanity.
No comments:
Post a Comment