The 'YES' Day.

    Today was a day of mostly 'yes's'.
I have decided to figure a quick budget based on the train-wreck of a printed statement from my bank.
The calculator shows indifference to the d.debits I'm adding. Actually, I think I have a manageable amount at the end of the month. Yes!
Then, Yes, I have to go food shopping.
On a Tuesday, it is quiet, better stocked and my favourite check-out lady is working. Yes.
The deodorant stick makes a bid for freedom....sails over the crisps crying, "I wanna be freeeeee!" and safely lands in a space on the belt without knocking over the passatta. Yes, yes.
    On my way home I remind myself I need to call a new garage. The car is needing an M.o.T. by the end of the month.
I'm dreading all things associated with the responsibility of change.
Uh,oh. My mobile is poorly, it keeps checking out in a blank sort of way, then it is brave and works for as long as it can, then passes out again.
Which I feel is odd behaviour for an inanimate object.
I am resourceful and use the land-line to ring this new garage, despite exposing myself and my little 'billy-cart' to young, jumped-up mechanics that wouldn't know who Cleo Lane is when asked the make of my car.
    My fears are quashed by a friendly woman's voice.
This is the bit when I feel like Danny Wallace in his 'YES MAN'. Except my Yes's are less of a sociological experiment.
Non the less, I find myself at the unyielding mercy of 'yes' and all it's ill considered knock-on effects.
I expected to be slotted in next few days or even next week.
Completely caught off guard, she announced a 2:15 or a 3:00 slot for a test today.
TODAY?
"Yes! um, 3:00, please."
With our peeps coming home for 3:40, I hoped they wouldn't eat all the chocolate peanut cookies 
as a knock-on effect.
    After emptying the boot of the car into the village charity shop, I zoomed off......fearing I may be late on my first visit to this friendly garage. That would be rude.
I am familiar with the area of where they reside...under rail-way arches near a popular tourist coach park. (Not a park consisting of rides shaped like coaches, just were they park.)
     The mechanic is a one man welcoming committee.
He waits patiently as I pick my keys out of a puddle. I fumble with them more as I eventually give him the one for the car.  
For the 45minutes it takes to test, I decide,'yes' to the much closer tourist cafe, instead of popping up to my usual coffee house.
Here comes a knock-on effect.
Weaving my way around tourist groups, milling around fuzzy rimmed cowboy hats, Royal tea-towels and London t-shirts, even though we're not in London.
The ice lolly freezers are about three feet apart, there must have been about eight of them.
Tat drips from the walls and beams over head.
Finally, I spot the cafe part with civilised marble tables and lovely straight chairs befitting a tea shop.
    There are lovely tea shop pastries, cakes and sandwiches......and a pot of coffee sitting on a hot plate.
Twenty years ago, I would have bravely partaken in the java most commonly referred to as 'joe'.
I'm ruined by the cultured flavour and ambiance of today's favoured coffee houses.
This became a firm 'no' of the day.
     Eventually, an attendant could be bothered to attend this odd little cafe counter from the afore mentioned twee shop of souvenirs.
She sulked over in her faded jeans and a grey hoodie with a face like a yard of pump water.
I asked for a pot of tea, expecting a brutal little catering pot for one.
But instead, she fixed me a china pot nestled in a large cup and a small jug of milk.
Then glared at me and asked for £1.99.
Ooops, not enough change. I asked if I could pay for it with my card?
She shifted her weight on the other foot...."Five pound limit."
As a random act of kindness or a desperate bid to get us away from this unpleasantness, the woman beside me nearly begged me to let her make up the difference.
I thanked her very much for the offer, but I was not going to let this attitude intimidate me or this kind hearted woman.
So, I popped back to the lovely cakes and chose two fruit bars and a rather large baguette.
£7.45 and I need to pay in gift shop.
    I put my heavily laden tray on a table and found another girl dressed in cloths too small for her revealing more than I would choose.
Grumpy caught up with her friend and they proceeded to gripe in Polish.
During my transaction, I would not be at the mercy of the cultural differences. I know other Polish people that have never made anyone feel an outsider.
I finally sit down at my table and listen to the traveller's banter from behind my book.
When it is time to go back across to the garage, I found my way out of the cafe of oddities.
The girls were outside, Grumpy leaning back on a chair blowing a thick stream of smoke from her maw. 
She glared at me as I passed by as though she was cursing my nose to fall off into my next bowl of soup.
I did not dignify the expression with a response.
Instead, I mentally kicked the remaining chair legs out from under her causing her to swallow her cigarette.
Another 'yes', albeit an imaginary one.
    I left the car at the garage overnight.
My phone would periodically let me use it,but it was still poorly. I had to be resourceful with my usage.
The bus I was going to catch home before they ate all the chocolate-peanut cookies...was not going to the village for another hour.
At this point, I could kiss those cookies good-bye.
My phone was too poorly to bring up the touch key pad, I couldn't call a taxi.
I speed dial my peeps at home and her independence relishes the task of ringing a taxi on my behalf.
I get woozie and eat a fruit bar.
Yes, that's better.
A few minutes later my taxi shows up.
Yes, That's our gal!

Love Val x