They Think They Know Everything

I serve the coffee. The guy looks around the empty cafe, shrugs his shoulders, then sits at the counter.

He smiles. I do my best to smile back, before turning around to wash cups.

‘You’re Polish, right?’

Kurva, he wants to talk. ‘No’ I say, wishing to end his hopeful attempt at conversation.

‘Okay, Czech or something then. One of those eastern European countries, anyway.’

What a jerk. All English people are the same, they think they know everything.

‘I am from Slovakia,’ I say, without turning around, ‘and it is Central Europe not East.’

‘Fair enough.’ he says.

I finish cleaning the cups and turn round. I automatically look to the clock but it is too depressing so I ignore it.

He holds his hand out. ‘Brian.’

I sigh, wiping my hands on my apron. ‘Magda’ I say, shaking his hand.

‘There now that wasn’t too hard, was it? Listen, can I ask you a question, Magda?’

I shrug my shoulders. ‘Would it make a difference? Whatever I say, yes or no, I think you will ask anyway?’

‘Miaow, you’ve got claws girl.’ He holds his hands to his chest and pretends like he is hurt. ‘Okay, I’ll ask you. How much do you earn here? six, seven pound an hour?’

‘I don’t think that is any of your business.’

He shakes his head, breathing slowly through his nose. ‘Sure, sure. But seriously though, I don’t think you came all the way to England just to serve coffee, did you?’

‘What do you think?’ I pick up a cloth and let it dangle in front of his face. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get on with my work.’

I feel him watching as I wipe tables. I wish that I had worn jeans today instead of a skirt.

He walks across the cafe to where I am cleaning. ‘Look, let’s cut the bullshit, okay.’ He takes a card from his pocket and hands it to me.

‘I’m a photographer for some magazines. I could get loads of work for a good looking girl like you.’

I throw the card in his face. ‘Bastard, you think I am poor Slovakian girl who will take her clothes off for your dirty magazines. Piss off!’
I spit on the floor.

‘Look, it’s nothing too heavy alright, just topless, mostly, maybe a little bit of full frontal. Honestly Magda, alright, a girl with your looks and that body,’ he sighs, shaking his head. ‘You could earn five hundred a shoot, easy.’

‘You’re an asshole,’ I say, ‘now leave or I call the manager.’

He picks up the card and leaves it on the counter. ‘Do yourself a favour Magda, think about it.’

He walks out of the cafe. I watch him pass before I pick the card up.

I turn it over and over in my fingers, looking out of the window.

I clench the card, making a fist and throw it into the bin.

Asshole.