Tuesday, May 26, 2020

At lunchtime, I duck around the swarming workers at the cafe downstairs. I’ve stepped in to get something to go. The cafe is fully reopening tomorrow. It’s been open for takeout for the past few weeks and for delivery for a while longer. I’ve seen people sitting on the built-in benches that ring its patio, drinking coffee. But now they’re setting everything up there, under the awning, in the shade outside. The order from our usual lunch place didn’t happen today, and I hadn’t brought my own, so here I am. Inside the cafe, takeaway sandwiches are lined up within a display case. I ask the cashier for the salmon sandwich, in Hebrew. “Anything else?” I ask for a Coke Zero. She switches to English, with an accent close to mine. “They’re in the fridge, behind you.” No matter what I do, I end up saying “Coke Zero” like an American. It’s my tell. I turn, get one, and come back to the counter. I look down at the sandwich. It’s smaller than I thought. She reads my mind, or at least my face, even through the mask. “Yeah, they aren’t really enough for a lunch. I’d go for the tuna or avocado.” I get the tuna. “You want me to open the Coke?” She’s holding a bottle opener. I don’t know if we have one in the office. I nod. She opens it. On my way out, I almost walk into a worker carrying a stack of chairs. They’ve put most of the tables in place while I’ve been inside. Most have chairs on top of them. From what I understand, they’ll only be able to use some of the tables. I guess the rest will still have chairs, or some other marker, on them. I’ll see tomorrow.