That’s the way the apple crumble

– Say, you have this apple crumble? — I point to the menu: “This one.”
– Yes, have.
– Is it fresh?
The place is clean but eerily empty. Cappuccino was good and I feel like sticking around.
She gives me a blank stare.
– Is it good, tasty? Arroy?
– Yes, arroy, — her friend chimes in, — “very good.”
I’m suspicious.
– Who made it, you? Or her? — giggles all around as these middle-age Thai women shake their heads.
– Kitchen make.
With lightness and precision of super Mario Gotze, I slide one in past their meek defenses:
– When? Today?
They appear to be thinking. If you freeze-frame it, you can actually see their brains flipping through pages of a Thaiglish phrase book.
– Yesterday? — I’m ever so helpful.
– No. Last week.
Pow! Yeah, it’s only Monday, but who wants a week-old apple crumble cake? Not me; oh no, fuck that. I smile.
– One more cappuccino, please.
– No cake?
I give her the look I usually save for three-legged dogs with bold patches on their fur and mouth out a No with polite sternness of a clothing shop manager from earlier today.

Two minutes later she delivers another perfectly executed cappuccino and, much like Louie CK, I can’t help but wonder that maybe, just maybe, that week-old apple crumble could have turned out to be an OK piece of cake.

Naaah, GTFO.