Place: Celebrity Cafe & Bakery.
Time: 11:55 a.m. Sunday
Scene: Five people wait outside the still-locked doors of this neighborhood cafe, waiting for the place to open at noon. All five are grown-ups. We acknowledge each other with nods and smiles and mentally tick off our order of arrival: Nice older couple in tennis togs first; then the lady in yoga pants holding a six-pack of seltzer waters; white-haired lady in Sunday School attire; then me. We know that when the doors are unlocked we will line up accordingly. It's an order-at-the-counter type place. And it's teeny-tiny inside with lots of outdoor tables at which to dine.
At two minutes till noon, four college-age girls bop up, each in an identical outfit of chewed-hem denim miniskirt, Bernardo sandals and T-shirt depicting some form of the word "Kappa." They ignore the five of us earlier arrivals and wouldn't you know, the owner of the cafe steps up and unlocks the door just as they position themselves in front of it on the sidewalk.
Door opens. Sorority chickies push toward the counter and proceed to order vast numbers of take-out sandwiches, salads, cookies and beverages. Then they slow things down further by charging the eats on four different credit cards. The five of us WHO SHOULD HAVE BEEN FIRST IN LINE take our places on the sidewalk in correct order and wait--for-fricking-ever--for the me-first!-Kappas to get what they want in their sweet time.
The place is the size of a thimble, so even after they've placed their orders, the Kappas don't move aside to let anyone else step up to order (you're supposed to do that--they bring your food to you when it's ready). They just stand there like idiots, not realizing they're keeping not just five patrons WHO ARRIVED BEFORE THEY DID from ordering, but now another seven who've lined up behind us.