That’s also not a Stereotype

Our favourite, probably crazy doctor was in today. A quick recap, this woman thinks they’re going to launch us all into space.

Today was another day of her chatting at us nonstop. She was on a different track today. Instead of insane, she was going for stereotypes. She started by asking Oliver if he was Italian. He said yes. She then starting blabbing about how she needed her tiles done, and that she had to find someone Italian or Portuguese because that was their specialty. She seemed to think that Oliver or a relative of his would be an excellent tiler (Oliver is a chef, for goodness sakes). Then she continued by stating that you can’t get just one guy to tile things, you’ve got to get 4. Because, as she said, at least one of them will try to cheat you. Or something to that effect. I think. That’s the other thing. She’s chattering on and on, and she’s almost whispering, so over the radio and the noises of the kitchen, not only is she stereotyping but she’s stereotyping really really softly, so that in a state of helpless “I-cant-hear-most-of-what-you’re-sayingness, I ended up just smiling, nodding and hoping that she’ll stop talking. Who knows how many rude and politically incorrect things I ended up agreeing with!


The Day of Weird Phone Calls

Normally at Café Italia, the phone calls are so routine that I could do them in my sleep. “What’s the special?” “What’s the soup of the day?” “It’s me, [regular customer], I’d like to order [my regular thing].” The really wild callers will ask to speak to Oliver, sometimes in broken English with a heavy Italian accent. But for some reason, today was a weird one for phone calls.

Rejected Over the Phone

*ring ring*
Me: Hello, Café Italia
Caller 1: Hello, is this a restuarant?
Me: Yes, this is Café Italia.
Caller 1: No, Ok, I don’t want that. Goodbye.
Me: Ooohkay, goodbye.

Do You Work With [Dead Psychologist]?

*ring ring*
Me: Hello, Café Italia
Caller 2: *inaudible mumbling*…looking for someone who works there. Do you know *inaudible* Skinner? (I couldn’t hear the first words she said, but my inner psych major was really hoping that she was calling for BF Skinner, the dead father of operant conditioning, and legendary school prankster)
Me: Well, there are only two employees here, myself and the owner, Oliver.
Caller 2: Oliver? Are you sure there’s no one there named *still inaudible* Skinner?
Me: No, sorry.
Caller 2: *sounding dejected* Ok, then. Goodbye.
After she hung up, I told Oliver about the phone call, and he jokingly said he could change his name to Skinner of the caller wanted.

Who’s Donna?

Me: Hello, Café Italia
Caller 3: Can I speak to Donna?
Me: Sorry, who?
Caller 3: Da Ownah! Da Ownah!
Me: Oh, sure!
Oliver told me after he got off the phone with this fellow that the man wanted to know if we accepted credit cards. Why I wasn’t good enough to answer that question, we’ll never know.