While attending the anti-lockdown protest at Trafalgar Square last Saturday, I crossed the road to the Caffe Nero. In a queue I chatted to a pleasant couple in their 60s behind me. When it was my turn, I ordered a double espresso and produced a fiver. The young European guy serving told me that I must pay by card.
Now, if I’m ever going to challenge the impositions of the New World Order it’s when I’m at a rally against Covid tyranny. So I said ‘this is British money, in a British cafe’. The couple behind were angered on my behalf and demanded to speak to the manager.
A ‘Karen’ came out and told me that no cash is allowed due to coronavirus. Looking at me as if I’m stupid. Then a bearded older bloke further back in the queue got involved, asserting that my fiver is legal tender. I asked the young man ‘why can’t you just open the till?’ ‘No, it’s locked’.
Then two white middle-class women in their late twenties, in the adjacent toilet queue, intervened. ‘Stop getting at them, they’re on the minimum wage’. This provoked the beard, who suggested: ‘you’re exactly the kind of people who would have us walking into the gas chambers’.
With the row escalating (I said nothing to these women), I turned back to the guy behind the perspex screen. Feeling that my point had been made, I got my card out. .His response was to suddenly raise his arms in the air and let out a howl. He stepped back and then shuffled into the back area, where he found a nice soft landing of cardboard boxes to land on, repeating his arm-waving and howl in his backwards fall. It was clearly histrionic.
Having seen enough amateur dramatics, I left without my coffee.