Charles W.
Yelp
Waiting is part of Sunday morning brunch/brekky. It can be done irritably, or it can be done with grace and elan. It cannot not be done.
There is sort of a contest on Sunday mornings to out non-chalant one another. Like all is well, hale and hearty! About half ooze booze from their pores.
I parked next to a giant live oak with a face carved into it. A tree spirit. A tree spirit that looks for eternity at a Dairy Queen that is across the street. A perpetually out of reach Oreo Blizzard. That might be hell.
Anyway, a ramshackle looking middle-aged woman paced up and down the sidewalk outside of the Mallery Street Cafe cursing loudly. Not just the impolite GD that might pepper an Irritable Brunch Waiting Person's conversation, but full blown MF and other odd combinations that made me think the tree spirit might be malevolent and had invaded her body.
Nonchalance culture requires a witness to such to turn away, to tighten the circle, to ignore.
Then the woman marched into the cafe, unbidden, and sat down with a bewildered party that just stared at her as she plopped down in their midst. I lip read a man ask, "Who are you?"
The woman shot up and exited without so much as a howdy-doo, passing my little party, cursing, and loudly proclaiming, "This is BS, I can't do it anymore."
Who doesn't like a little intrigue, melodrama, and rumination on the current status of treatment for the mentally ill with their Coastal Omelette? Which, I'm happy to report after my nonchalant wait, was super tasty and gathered up all the seafaring tidbits I was hoping for--crab, scallops, maybe some shrimp. The breakfast taters were good too.
Kudos to the staff for managing the feigned nonchalance of the Sunday Morning Brunch People as we waited--especially those who might happen to have walked past the malevolent Tree Spirit.