When I need a nearby caffeine-fix I pop down to our local BP petrol station. At a guess it rates only about 1.5 on the Hygge-Scale but honestly, I don't mind at all. I love going there.
I leap onto a bar-stool near the window between the methylated spirits and windscreen-cleaners on my right and cheap kids' bouncy balls on my left. Pie-crumbs, not fresh flowers in vases, adorn my little bit of bench. The staff are crazy busy so you have to expect a bit of mess.
They know me here. I just hand them my keep-cup and they make my double-shot latte up to the line drawn with my felt-pen. After 6 coffees we loyal customers get a freebie and well, I nearly faint with happiness on those occasions.
Our local BP petrol station is a people-watcher's paradise as you can see everyone filling up their cars with fuel or coming in to pay for it and maybe get a coffee or meat-pie.
Sadly, some people "forget" to pay for their petrol and attempt to race away after filling up. Today Crystal chased one of these forgetful drivers and banged on the fleeing car-window until the woman got spooked and reversed to pay.
Actually, our local BP petrol station attracts a variety of scoundrels who "forget" important things like how it's preferable to pay for items with real money. Michelle told me that last week someone stood in the queue and paid for just a chocolate bar with a fake $100 note. He got the change and calmly walked out before the crime was detected by a supervisor who scrutinised the note half an hour later. Apparently they got him, an older man, after checking security footage.
I could try that forgetful routine at the petrol pump or churn out conterfeit money but my temperament is not suited to crime. My conscience niggles me even if I try to walk past a group of fund-raising Girl Guides selling their home-made baking outside the Post Office. I avert my eyes from the smiling uniformed girls because all that is left on the trestle-table are hideous cup-cakes with fluoro-green icing and a jelly-bean on top. But guess who ends up buying a tray full of them?
In some cafes with a truck-load more ambience you see nice people sitting at tables with arty designs on their lattes. They linger and chat and relax.
Not at our local BP petrol station. It is a place of quick, quick, quick. Except that is, for people like me who are semi-retired and can people-watch at leisure.
I watch the truckies and fluoro-vested tradies coming in and out. A sign outside requests that dirty work-boots be taken off before entering but some workers "forget" to do that and the floor has stomped clumps of mud on it. These guys have work to get back to so stand a tad impatiently in the queue to be served. A lot of them buy a pie, probably mince and cheese. Or steak and cheese. Nothing vegan or fancy-pantsy like cranberry and Tuscan chicken, thank you very much, mate.
A highlight of my BP coffee sit-down today was witnessing, not one, but two men each put a hot pie in a white paper bag and, as soon as they did so, the pie fell out the bottom and splattered to the floor. Turns out the whole pile of paper bags were faulty and not sealed underneath.
The men got replacement pies in different paper-bags after some embarrassed laughter. Such a waste of good pie but I have to admit to being entertained. My life must lack something.
Lots of our local Indian kiwifruit orchard workers come in too as do families who stop on a long journey to somewhere for a toilet and sanity break. The kids plead for a hot chocolate or snack.
So many customers have tattoos that you start to wonder if it's now compulsory but someone forgot to tell me. I study them all and am especially curious about the ones I can only see part of because of a sleeve pulled down or shorts cover a quote in italics on their thigh. Some are so beautiful and arty. Like this young guy who had this big octopus tattoed on his arm and when I admired it he said, "Yeah, The octopus squirts ink so that's why I got it inked on my arm". OK..
Some people have more ink than skin and you cannot even work out their ethnicity anymore.
Everyone has to walk right past me to go to the toilet and so I get to read slogans on their tee-shirts. Over the months I've read the profound and disturbing but prefer the former.
"Good things take time"
"Trust the Process"
"Why not think outside the box?"
One young guy had a tee-shirt on with red and orange flames shooting up his chest and the words, " I'm only half evil". I grinned at him as he swaggered past me to the toilet as I wished to ascertain which half of him prevailed that morning. No fanged snarl but a smile came right back at me so that was nice.
And this is what I love. Just trying to figure folk out.
The staff are great without exception. Some have hair dyed different colours and studs here and there. There is a courteous man from Nepal and some students. Also a couple of fun women with whom a bit of banter is exchanged.
The baristas make consistently good coffee and are so busy all the time that of course the occasional mistake happens. Like 10 minutes ago one young woman left with her coffee but soon returned saying. "Excuse me, this is a chai latte not a mocha". So I guess someone got a mocha instead of a chai.
Another thing that I like at our local BP petrol station is how the sunlight coming in through the window causes a mini-rainbow to shine upon my bench. It's like a little poem without words that doesn't mind the pie crumbs.
Yip, if I meet my friend, Trish, at our local BP petrol station we talk lots and sort the world out but if I'm on my own, I'm not lonely or bored with so much to see and smile about.
