*Warning. This post may include death.*
*May. I said may.*
The other day I was behind the counter in the cafe where I work, doing important things involving spoons. I find that most things that involve spoons are important, but I was being paid to do these particular things, which made them more important than usual.
It was a slow morning, after the morning coffee rush and before the first customers would come in for lunch. In fact there was only one customer, a regular, ensconced at a small table by the wall, reading a paper, drinking his americano and eating a piece of cake.
I had my back to this gentleman, because of my aforementioned engagement with the spoons. Soft cafe-type music tinkled out of the speakers overhead – but neither that, nor the clinky song of the spoons was enough to hide the noise.