Rune Froseth

“Hi, honey. So, what are we having?” asks Kelsey. I don’t think she knows him—or has even seen him before—but she “honeys” pretty much everybody.
“Eh, hmm, eh. Can I have an espresso, please?” For a second Kelsey is quiet—she is at a loss for words. Then she rolls her eyes around the room and bursts out laughing.
“Espresso? ESPRESSO? Do we have—tell me—do we look like we have espresso?” Now everybody is laughing. Including the manager in the corner. The guy in the suit blushes. In any other establishment, I guess this would have been regarded as an extremely rude response, and cause for dismissal, or at least a reprimand, but here it is the ignorant, pretentious customer who is at fault. “We have coooffee—if that’s good enough fo’ ya?” She drags out the o in coffee in expert New York fashion. “Yes, yes, a cup of coffee, please.” He looks down, not daring to meet the look of the vicious Kelsey. “No sugar.”

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One Response to Rune Froseth

  1. shinichi says:

    No Sugar

    by Rune Froseth

    Reflex Fiction

    https://www.reflexfiction.com/no-sugar-by-rune-froseth/

    I am sitting at the bar at Duke’s on Third Avenue, having lunch. This cannot really be said to be a very chic place, but—as their sign says—they serve ‘home cooking’. And it is not bad. Also cheap and friendly. I like the informality of the place, rather than Docks further up on the other side of Third Avenue.

    I am—as usual—sitting at the bar. And—also as usual—Kelsey is tending the bar. She is a rather petite false blond originally from Pennsylvania. Not particularly pretty, but nice and funny, witty. As always, they are playing music from the eighties—from my youth.

    The door opens and a man walks in. Suit, tie—typical business attire for midtown Manhattan. He probably works at an insurance or a financing company nearby. The guy seems to be in his mid- or late thirties.

    He sits down a couple of stools from me.

    “Hi, honey. So, what are we having?” asks Kelsey. I don’t think she knows him—or has even seen him before—but she “honeys” pretty much everybody.

    “Eh, hmm, eh. Can I have an espresso, please?” For a second Kelsey is quiet—she is at a loss for words. Then she rolls her eyes around the room and bursts out laughing.

    “Espresso? ESPRESSO? Do we have—tell me—do we look like we have espresso?” Now everybody is laughing. Including the manager in the corner. The guy in the suit blushes. In any other establishment, I guess this would have been regarded as an extremely rude response, and cause for dismissal, or at least a reprimand, but here it is the ignorant, pretentious customer who is at fault. “We have coooffee—if that’s good enough fo’ ya?” She drags out the o in coffee in expert New York fashion. “Yes, yes, a cup of coffee, please.” He looks down, not daring to meet the look of the vicious Kelsey. “No sugar.”

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