How many teenage wannabe hipsters can you fit in the closed-off upstairs dining area of a teeny village tea house?
Three?
Five?
Ten?
How about fifteen. No joke.
We just wanted a bite to eat in the late afternoon, so we headed into this cute-looking tea house because the menu and signage outside was inviting. Not a single person under the age of 20 occupied this building excepting ourselves. I ordered tea and toast with preserves. I got my tea after about seven minutes But did my toast and preserves come? No. After the husband's tuna sandwich (on toasted bread) came and I waited another five minutes, I flagged down the braces-wearing youngin' to ask about the toast. I never saw him again. The teenage 'manager' brought me the toast about seven minutes later without preserves. I asked about the preserves and she got snippy with me, telling me she didn't take my order initially and didn't know what I wanted. How about some preserves to go with my 'toast and preserves'?
Did I mention the place was bereft of actual customers?
While I finished my toast and listened to the asinine conversation between three girls in the back room ('no, like, I'm turning eighteen in two months! Two months! Really! How old do you think I look? Two months! Innit.'), the parade of teenage hipsters began down the stairs.
one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven....
The 'manager' began closing rituals, bringing in outside signage to store on the dining room floor, while we sat waiting for a bill so we could just pay our money and leave. After several minutes, I was up out of my seat and on my way to the back room with a tenner when she met me half way with our ticket. Here's my tenner, kthx bye.
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