The Power to Make People Grin

“You want a coffee?” I ask.

My daughter Gemma-Rose says, “Yes please!”

”What cafe shall we go to?”

”Let’s go somewhere we’ve never been before.”

The first cafe we come to is That Coffee Place. It’s the trendy one where all the cool people gather. They linger outside in the dappled sunshine, with their beautifully groomed dogs at their feet, sipping their lattes where they can be seen.

Usually, we bypass this cafe because we’re not part of the trendy crowd, but today we’re feeling adventurous and looking rather cool: we’re wearing our Doc Martens and a daring shade of lipstick. But not caring about being seen, we choose, not to sit under the trees but to go inside.

A moment later, we’re settled at a window table trying to make up our minds: are we hungry or do we only want coffee? We make our decisions, and then Gemma-Rose and I look around at the cafe decor. We observe the wait staff. And when our fruit toast and croissants arrive, we take careful note of what’s on our plates. We sip our coffees carefully. Are they good?

“How would you rate the cafe service?” I ask.

“I’d give it two stars out of five,” says Gemma-Rose.

I nod my head. “When we arrived, we weren’t exactly made to feel welcome, were we?”

“And our menus were thrown at us.”

”What about the food?”

”It’s okay. Good but not extra-special. A four?”

”Perhaps we should have gone to one of our favourite cafes,” I say.

”Oh, no! It’s fun to try somewhere new. And because things aren’t perfect, we have lots to talk about!”

When Gemma-Rose and I have finished being mystery cafe goers, we head towards the shops. We look at clothes, and I buy some sneakers. And we spend lots of time browsing for Christmas present ideas. Eventually, Gemma-Rose says, “It must be lunchtime by now. I’ll buy you lunch.”

We decide that we’ve been adventurous enough for one day, so we go to a cafe where we’re sure the food is good. And it is. Soon, we’re  tucking into big bowls of chicken Caesar salad. And while we eat, we chat about cafes.

“I wonder what kind of reviews That Coffee Place gets,” I say.

Gemma-Rose grabs her phone, a few touches of her thumbs, and then she reads out several of the recent reviews.

I mention another local cafe. And another. Gemma-Rose reads out more reviews. “Listen to this one,” she says. “Someone said the coffee tasted like mud and complained that the waitress chewed gum like a cow!”

We giggle.

“Do you think we should write a review of That Coffee Place?” I ask. “Tell them what we think of their poor service.”

Gemma-Rose shakes her head. “No, if we complain someone might lose their job.”

”But surely, we should warn other people not to go to that cafe?” Yes, I could hop online and tell the world what I think. Use my power. My opinion is important, isn’t it? Don’t I have the right to say it as it is?

My daughter shakes her head again. ”Maybe they were just having a bad day.”

We’re not having a bad day. Oh no, Gemma-Rose and I are chatting loudly, savouring our lunch, wondering if our cool lipsticks are rubbing off, having fun while discussing the important things of life.

”Did you hear how my cafe got a good review the other day?” says Gemma-Rose. “The boss showed it to me. The customer said his Spanish breakfast was the best he’d ever had. I cooked that food!”

Someone grabbed his phone. A few touches with his thumbs. Five out of five: he left his opinion. He used his power to make us grin.