Part One: Small Victory

As I mentioned, my work is a family-run café, which basically means that the whole family is your boss. This one woman will literally stand right over your shoulder watching you do things to point out anything you do wrong. (I understand that I'm new, so I need to learn things and I would really rather be told how to do them than to do them wrong, but the scrutiny just makes me nervous and uncomfortable. I've gotten so uncomfortable with being watched, it's amazing that I used to be a drama geek.)

The good part of the story is that she was so busy watching me prepare something and trying to find some failure of mine that she completely mixed up the order and made a whole Belgian waffle the wrong way and we had to just scrap that waffle and make a whole new one.

Part Two: The Cutest Child in the World™

Also, the Cutest Child in the World™ came into the café today. She had brown curly hair in Shirley Temple ringlets and chubby cheeks and smiled a lot. Her mom held her up on the low counter and then she ordered her ice cream. "Would you like that in a cone or a cup?" "A cone," she answered. She fiddled with the little ice cream cone holder we have. She got her ice cream and then the girl tells the mom the price. Then the girl takes the money from her mom and hands it to the girl who was working with me. While the girl who was working with me was getting the change, she set her ice cream in the holder. It made my afternoon.

Part Three: Random Guy Hits on Me on the Subway

I was on the subway tonight and I was sort of trying to read The Plague. I looked up from my book and this, like, thirty-year-old black man wearing sunglasses on the subway is looking at me. He nods. I nodded back, to be polite. Being nice to strangers is cool. (One time I was getting off the train and the conductor winked at me in an avucular way, and it totally made my day.) Anyway, he is getting off at Spadina. "Let's get a drink," he says. I didn't hear him over the train noise. "Let's get a drink," he says again. "No thanks," I say, shaking my head. He gets off. As he's leaving, he knocks on the window and waves when I look over. I waved back.
(The slightly creepy part, beyond the bluntness, is that this guy looked easily thirty (I'm a bad judge of ages) but let's say thirty. I am 21 and look it. With my hair back (as it was from work) I look even younger. My evidence that pulled-back hair makes me look young is that I had my hair back on my first day of work and I was talking to this girl at work, like you do, and I was all "Yeah, I go to U of T," and she was all "Oh, are you in first year?" I never wear my hair pulled back in real life.)