Why dunt that shop do white coffee?
I went inter one o’ them coffee shops last wick. I were inbetween buses an’ it were piddlin’ down.
It wan’t too busy and no sooner ‘ad I sat down than a waitress tonned up. O were called Kate, a fact I gleaned from the lapel badge o were wearing. O ‘ad a lovely smile, very white teeth. Well thi’ do these days don’t thi’.
“What would you like sir?” o asked. I thought that’s a good start...“Sir”.
I thought ‘appen manners are better than I thought.
“I’d like a white coffee please,” I said. I were on me best be’aviour.
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The smile remained firmly in place as she said “We don’t do white coffee.”
I were somewhat tekken aback.
“Why dunt y’do white coffee?” I axed.
“It’s racist,“ she said.
I said pardon.
“It’s racist sir,” she said.
“Who sez so?” I axed, not a little flummoxed by the route that this discourse were tekkin’.
“Head Office,” she said. The smile remained transfixed.
“An’ you goo along wi’ what ‘ead Office say?” I axed.
“It’s in the manual. We have to follow what’s in the manual,” she said. Her smile was, by now, becoming something of a strain on her jaw.
“Alrate, I’ll tell y’what, I’ll ‘ave a black coffee wi’a jug o’ milk,” I said.
The smile was disappearing.
“I’m sorry sir, we don’t do black coffee,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Don’t tell me, that’s racist as well.”
“Yes sir,” she said.
“So what do you do?” I asked.
The smile returned to it’s original position. Kate was now back on home soil.
“I can do a coffee with milk on the side,” she said.
“Then that’s whar I’ll have,” I said, a note of triumph in my voice. “I’ll ‘ave a coffee wi’ milk ont side. Full fat milk please.”
“I’m sorry sir, we don’t do full fat milk,” Kate said.
“Why not?” I axed. “It’s not racist.”
“No sir. It’s weightist,” she said.