Originally published by The Clifton Courier, May 26, 2021

I try not to take any hardline stances in this column.

I don’t want to alienate people or make them feel like their way of life is wrong. And I don’t want to be using this column as the geyser from which my angry bubbling stream of hot takes spits out. I don’t want to push any agendas – I mean, besides that whole anti-bin-in-the-cupboard thing – I just want to have a harmless little laugh, you know?

But good heavens, I think cafes that don’t have table numbers need to take a good, hard look at themselves. 

I was at a cafe the other day which was very much on the trendy end of the spectrum. It had waffles and fried chicken as a breakfast option, which very much taps into that American comfort food trend that hopefully, for the sake of cholesterol speckled arteries around the country, falls out of favour somewhat soon. It listed a side of chips on the menu as “chippies” instead of just “chips”. It had a well thought out colour scheme so the decor matched the staff’s uniforms – which wasn’t even really a uniform come to think of it. All the staff wore the same shirt, but paired with their own pants to give the impression of being less forced and more individual. This was a venue created with Instagram in mind. It was an aesthetic. In short, this cafe knew exactly what it was doing. 

So when there were no table numbers, it was no accident. It was a deliberate design decision. 

I can understand where they’re coming from. Those standard table numbers on the silvery metal stands can be a little tacky. They’re also very common – every bar and grill has them. And, look, I understand the notion of wanting to be a little bit different from all those other basic cafes – that’s pretty much my whole thing. But, in cafes and in life, going too hard on the “a little bit different” just for the sake of being a little bit different can be just as tacky as being like everyone else. Take, for example, those places that have plastic toys jammed on sticks as their table numbers. They’re a bit of fun I guess, but they’re not everyone’s cup of tea. And this wasn’t the kind of cafe that leaned into that kind of caper. This was the kind of cafe that was serious but approachable but cool. 

So they just went without table numbers.

And, look, that’s fine when you have table service. If you have waiters coming to the table taking your order, bringing your food to you and then taking the eftpos machine to you so you don’t have to ever refer to your table with something as soullessly practical as a number, there’s no need for there to be a public-facing table numbering system. That can be done behind the scenes.

But when you have to go up to the counter to place your order, you have to inform the person behind the cash register where to plonk your food down. There’s got to be some kind of system in place to ensure the food you ordered ends up in your general vicinity, otherwise the wrong person would be given the wrong order and the world would crumble into anarchy. 

So when I went up to order my food, the person behind the counter asked what table I was at. And I blanked. 

I had just been grappling with the extremely taxing mental work of trying to decide what to order for breakfast so my brain had not been taking in my surroundings. And before that I had been chatting to my friends, but I hadn’t committed any of their outfit choices to memory and therefore could not use their fashion decisions as landmarks to direct the cafe worker. 

It made me realise how unobservant I can be. If my friends had been kidnapped and I had to make a missing persons report to the police, I would be of absolutely zero help to them. Here’s how I imagine that would go down: “Uhhh, one was wearing a dress, I think. Both of them were definitely wearing shoes – that I know. Can you just tell the officers to look out for two women who look like nice people?”

Back at the counter, I gestured vaguely in the general direction of the table I came from. Thankfully, one of my friends was wearing a hat, which caught the cafe worker’s eye and gave us a mutual reference point. If it wasn’t for that hat, I could still be there right now.

It was a very inefficient system and, geez, I thought we were better than this. This is a city that’s tipped to host an Olympics, for heavens sake!

Of course, there’s always the possibility that I’m overreacting. Maybe it’s not that big of a deal. Maybe being able to describe your location is a basic skill that most people should possess, especially if you’re someone who has an actual communications degree. Maybe, just maybe, I’m just ranting about something pointless and trivial to distract myself fromthe ache of my own pointless and trivial little existence.

But come on guys, we need table numbers.

* Yes, the title IS a direct quote from the cinematic masterpiece that was Holiday In the Sun. The Olsen Twins will not tolerate line cutters, even if they are Megan Fox.