Woolworths Café, September 15th

I’m back at school after the short holiday and we’ve just written a test – the last of my undergraduate degree. We need some kind of reward, so Gray and I head off to Woolworths Café.

We’ve had mixed experiences here. We’ve spent many happy afternoons here, pretty much always ordering the same thing – Gray goes for the rotisserie chicken and avo wrap (R49) and I choose the soya and linseed bread with mature cheddar and rosa tomatoes (R33). While the latter might sound like the most boring option on the menu, it’s the perfect answer to a craving for something really savoury, but healthy, and it can also cure all but the most severe of hangovers. If you don’t believe me, try it – it’s referred to in Woolworths’ endearingly pretentious manner as a tartine, not an open sandwich. Gray has described the interestingly folded wrap as “heaven in a cone.”

A less pleasant experience saw a badly handled attempt to split a bill between two cards (admittedly an annoying request) rapidly descending into a nasty situation in which a manager was unnecessarily harsh to the offending waitress.

Today, however, promises to be a less eventful occasion – we’re just here for coffee. Then, sitting there in the warm, pleasant setting, I feel very, very sad. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I think I’ve done badly in my test, or the fact that the test signalled how close I am to being finished with another life stage (I’m not a fan of the passage of time), or if it’s just that I’m feeling very deprived lately. I’ve been trying my best to be careful with money, work hard, and generally get my life in order, and while I feel a sense of achievement about that, I’m also feeling a little bit exhausted and sorry for myself. We probably all feel like this from time to time, but I think my problem is made worse by who my friends are - specifically that they generally have a lot of money. Gray sits across from me, rich and so beautiful, and I can’t contain my jealousy, so I start to cry. It’s something of an irony, I think, crying about your lack of privilege while patronising Woolworths.
The way Gray handles the situation reminds me why I’m friends with him despite his qualities – he is the only person I know who will tolerate my emotional outbursts in the public of places, and who realises that “pull yourself together” is an unhelpful phrase when that’s just what you’re trying to do. Today, though, he’s showing some signs of hopelessness, and asks,
“Does talking about this help?”
It does.
Whether it’s Gray’s pep talk or the white hot chocolate, I soon feel better. And I should tell you about the white hot chocolate: it’s not as sickly sweet as white hot chocolate usually is, and you can’t help but feeling happier and better prepared to face the day after having a cup. Woolworths makes much of its cappuccino, which recently won first place in an independent survey, before even Vida e Caffe. What I don’t understand is why any visitor to a Woolworths Café would choose any warm drink other than my clear favourite.

As an aside - Lambrusco is back at the Cavendish branch of Woolworths. This used to be a favourite of mine, and its unexplained disappearance from the shelves a few months ago has left an unpleasant gap in my drinking habits. It’s yet to be seen at my local Rondebosch Woolworths food store, but I’m not losing hope.