LOYALTY CARD PASTA SPOON

I looked up. She had the dismissive look of someone who’d just seen a person eat a pasta salad with a Starbucks loyalty card. I realised there was not much I could do to change that dismissive look, so I repaid it with a smile. She looked away.

I don’t know what else I could have done! The pasta salad had been one of those ones without a fork (probably good, better for the oceans) but I hadn’t realised, and the bus was only seven minutes away. When I peeled back the wrapping at the bus stop, I had to find a quick solution.

And I’ll be honest, I thought the loyalty-card-pasta-spoon was a good one, given the options available. It’s what Bear Grylls would have done.

She was a classy lady. I could tell from her shoes that she liked things neat. There was a glimmer of gold on her wrist, and matching glints beneath her straight, dark hair, all contrasting immaculately with an ice-white jacket. Meticulous, deliberate, planned, and poised. No-one wears a jacket on a boiling afternoon without an aesthetic reason.

I theorise that she would have dumped the pasta salad in the nearest bin. Actually, she’d never have bought it in the first place, and she’d probably not be seen eating in public. But her solution would not have been mine or Bear’s. 

I was wiping the Starbucks card in the grass by the time the bus turned up. Then I slotted it into a pocket and hopped aboard the Interdimensional Number 15 Omnibus. She didn’t follow. I saw her through the dusty window, still standing there poshly. A moment later a taxi drew up and she confidently climbed in the back.

Of course she did. Classy.