Film Fest 2015: Saturday (part 1)

Having learned my lesson yesterday about the quality of the hotel’s “complimentary” breakfast, I left the room around 11am and pressed the down button on the elevator. A minute later the door opened and I went in. The elevator descended five floors and then opened as the woman with wooden clipboard got off.

However instead of closing the elevator doors stayed open, and when I pushed the button to “close” all I got was an extremely loud “RRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTZZZZ” which repeated several times before the doors finally closed…and then again when they reopened a few seconds later just to reclose and reopen. This time, I get off and wait for the next operational elevator to get to my floor while the one I got off continues to malfunction without me.

I take a leisurely walk down St. Paul Street towards the Gallery and have lunch in their food court. I was extremely disappointed that they replaced those classy wooden booths with cheap metal picnic tables that rolled backward when I sat down in it and forwards again when I leaned in to eat so that in neither instance was it even with the adjoining table.

I take the escalator down two flights to the Starbucks kiosk on the second level. I order an iced decaf Macchiato and the young black barista at the other end of the counter calls over something about “break” or “breaking” followed by “did you get all of that?”

The white girl at the register looks at me as if that was my cue.

“She wants permission to go on break to go on lunch?”

The white barista looks at me, shakes her head and with a forced smile says “sorry, I didn’t get that. Could you repeat that?”

“I said: ‘She wants permission to go on break to go on lunch?’”

Now they’re BOTH staring at me.

“What the hell are you talking about,” the second barista asked shaking her head incredulously.

“I said – for the THIRD time – YOU asked her if you could go on break to get lunch.”

Like I asked in my previous post: how the hell do I keep ending up in situations like this?

“Um, no, I said ‘we don’t have any ‘decaf’ available, you’ll have to wait until I make a new pot.’”

THAT I could handle, and when I explained my order again she just said “okay” as if that was suddenly a non-issue. It took about 15 minutes to drink my coffee as I decided to take the opportunity to write out some of the day’s nonevents in my notebook.

It was as I left the Gallery to wait for the Circulator to my first show that I remembered that I had originally gone into the mall looking for something. Well, whatever, it was one less thing to cram into my already jam-packed bag…

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