“I’d like to book tickets for next month’s show, no expense spared, it’s an anniversary present. What are the best seats in the house?”

“We have front row seats available Sir, would that be ok?”

“Yes, perfect, thank you.”

The booking is concluded and the tickets duly arrive just one week before the show. My father-in-law examines the tickest. They are marked with a warning “restricted viewing”. This seems very odd. He paid a lot of money for the “best seats in the house”. How can the front row have restricted viewing?

He calls the ticket line.

“Hi, I’ve received my tickets but they state ‘restricted view’. Can you tell me what the restriction is? They’re front row tickets after all”

“Well, my notes here Sir say that due to the proximity of the front row to the stage, you won’t be able to see the actors’ feet.”

“You’ve got to be joking. When I asked for the best seats in the house they sold me front row. They’re not the best if you can’t see the feet can they?”

“They are very good seats sir, the best. You just may not always be able to see the actors’ feet”

“But we need to see their feet, that’s kind of the point!”

“I don’t understand Sir.”

“It’s Riverdance! The show is Riverdance. The feet are the show!”

“Sorry Sir, why is that?”

“Well, it’s Irish bloody dancing! They don’t move above the hips. That’s what its all about. The show is about dancing. With feet.”

“I see Sir, would you like me to change your seats?”

“Yes! Yes I would!”

“Let me see…”

“Sorry Sir, there are no other seats available. It’s very close to the show day you know.”

Only one thing to do in situations like this. Hang up. Find wall, proceed to bang head against wall.

“Two cappuchinos, one earl grey tea, one breakfast tea and a cup of hot water please.”

“Would you like ice in the water?”

I think for a moment. Yes, that makes sense. My colleague who wants hot water will be able to drink it without 3rd degree burns so yes, ice makes sense to me.

“Yes please.”

Teas arrive. Coffees Arrive. Water arrives (with ice) in a plastic ‘glass’.

“This can’t be right…” methinks. I feel the ‘glass’. It’s cold – luckily, lest it collapse in a molten heap.

“Excuse me. I asked for a cup of hot water.”

“Hot water?”

“Yes”

Assistant 1 confers with assistant 2.

“Sorry sir, we do not do hot water.”

“Pardon?”

“We do not do hot water.”

“But my tea is hot. It’s made with water.”

“Yes, but it’s tea.”

“But it’s only water until you add the teabag. Until then, it’s hot water. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, but we can’t sell it.”

“Ah, I see…”

I gather my thoughts. I think the problem is they want to charge me for a cup of hot water (ok) but it’s not on the menu.

“Could I have a cup of tea without the teabag?”

“No teabag? No, sorry”.

I’m now starting to question my own sanity but the city type standing next to me hasn’t had this much fun in years.  I think I’ve got Starbucks man cornered now though, he’s not going to wriggle out of this. I have a cunning plan (kudos Baldrick)…

“Could I have a cup of tea please but please give me the tea bag. I don’t want the tea bag in the cup.”

“Sure, no problem, here you are sir”

He hands me the cup of hot water. And an orphaned tea bag.