Is it any wonder that I quickly became a regular?
Every Saturday morning I find myself here, sitting at my regular table with my regular breakfast and my laptop in front of me, just killing a few hours before going to do the grocery shopping. They know my name, bring me my breakfast without me having to ask for it, and the manager seems to have an almost supernatural instinct about when I'll need a top up on my diet coke. Sure they may have a tendency to forget the butter, but nobody's perfect. In almost every other respect they are a good, reliable cafe.
Or perhaps I should say were.
They've changed hands! My regular cafe has changed owners and now it doesn't look like my cafe anymore. I walked in this morning and there's grass in the outside dining area. Grass! Sure, it's fake grass, but still.
And the menu has changed. My usual order isn't on it anymore. Sure, I was able to order something that was an approximation of it, and it was nice enough, but the toast wasn't the same and the potato feta balls had been replaced with normal hash browns. God I'm going to miss those potato feta balls.
But the worst betrayal? My table is gone.
The old owners had about half a dozen tables set up in the small inside eating area and I'd always pick the one in the back corner where I could just sit for hours and not get in anybody's way. But now they've replaced it with an enormous table for ten. How on earth am I supposed to write without feeling self conscious if I can't sit with my back to the wall?
I kind of feel like I've been evicted and nobody bothered to tell me.
I know I'm being unreasonable. Things can't stay the same forever. But I'm just feeling a bit displaced at the moment, sitting at a brightly striped table out on some rather unrealistic looking Astro-turf.
I suppose I should try looking on the bright side ... maybe these guys will remember the butter.
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