In the lead up to Christmas we stopped serving sandwiches. We needed the counter space for making hampers, and there wasn't much point ordering in stock that would go off.
The lunch-time regulars weren't best pleased. Some took it well and left with a scotch egg instead. Others took it not so well. One gentleman stormed out because we couldn't do him a ham and cheese on granary, slamming the door behind him.
One thing we could offer still was soup. Everyone likes soup! we thought.
Wrong.
No one wants soup. We sold one or two cups a day, at best. And it didn't seem to matter what flavour it was. Tomato and basil sold just as badly as wild mushroom. People only wanted sandwiches, and because there weren't any, they weren't interested in anything else. It didn't matter what soup we put on the board, no one wanted any.
And because it didn't seem to matter what we wrote on the board, we started writing all kinds of things just to see if anyone would notice. Parrot and Coriander, was the first one. No one batted an eyelid. Then we tried something a little wilder. Flea and Spam. Octopus and Cucumber. Butternut Squash and Sadness. Elephant and Castle.
The customers didn't notice.
Which was probably a good thing because Cream of Anthrax would have gotten us shut down.
I am going to write a story of some variety, long or short, fictitious or factual, every single day for a year. Wish me luck.
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