Thursday, June 18, 2009

Beryl's KitKat

I thought we were in need of some lighthearted relief so decided to retell the story of Beryl's Kitkat. I would point out that Beryl told me this story quite a few years ago and insisted that it was a true account of events that happened that day.

My stepmother Beryl at one time enjoyed a weekly girls shopping trip to Hanley with her daughter Lindi. Every Thursday would find them catching the bus into town, wandering around the shops in search of bargains then calling into a cafe before returning home. One particular week, Beryl embarked on the outing alone due to Lindi being otherwise engaged.

After sauntering around the shops which being alone did not seem to take up as much time as normal, she called into one of the cafes they often attended. Perhaps because she was earlier, it was much busier than usual, indeed there were not even any trays at the self service counter. This was no problem however because being on her own she only purchased a milky coffee and a Kitkat, the large 4 finger one.

Having paid the cashier she looked around to find that there were no tables completely free, so she made her way towards a small 2 seater table near the window that appeared to have more clear space than the rest. No clutter of plates, squashed chips or spilt peas. She did however pause as she made her approach upon seeing that the current occupant of the table was one of those "punk rockers". With no better alternative apparent, she took the seat opposite this spiky haired, black clothed, metal adorned individual.

Neither of them spoke or acknowledged each other, the lad just continuing to stare out of the window holding onto the cup containing the remaining half of his own drink. After the first refreshing mouthful of the milky coffee, Beryl picked up the Kitkat from the table, removed the outer wrapper, opened up the silver foil inside then broke off the first finger. Mmm she thought to herself as she savoured the first bite, she always did have a sweet tooth. She was then horrified to see the adolescent punk reach across, break off the second finger of Kitkat and proceed to eat it. Beryl was literally dumbstruck. She could not believe what she had just witnessed. She looked around to see if anyone had seen what had just happened but no one seemed to be looking in their direction.

Not quite sure how to react, or what may result if she said something, she calmly took another drink of her coffee then broke off the third finger from the chocolate biscuit and proceeded to eat that one replacing the remaining piece onto the table in front of her. In response, the punk picked up this last finger, stuffing it into his mouth, before screwing up the silver paper which he then placed very deliberately on the centre of the table, then walked out of the cafe. Beryl just stared after him as he left the establishment. She could scarcely believe what she had just witnessed. She was practically in a state of shock. What should she do?

Once more she looked about her expecting to see outraged bystanders willing to offer support, but again it seemed that all around, people were unaware of what had taken place. She drank what remained of the coffee in her cup, her mind in a turmoil. What should she do? Should she call for the manager? Should she speak with the cashier? Should she interrupt the conversations of those around her to make them aware of this bizarre event that she had just experienced?

Utterley bewildered by the whole event, she eventually made her way out of the cafe, stumbling and brushing aside people as she went. In somewhat of a daze she caught the bus and made her way home, unable to get what had happened out of her mind. The scene kept replaying over and over inside her head. How could the youth have behaved in such an arrogant outrageous manner, taking such advantage of a lady of advancing years, on her own and vulnerable.

Finally she had made the safety of her own home and it was with some relief that she now stood before her front door. It was as she reached into the coat pocket to retrieve her house keys that she discovered her own KitKat where she had placed it when at the counter of the cafe.


  1. It just goes to prove that you should never judge a book by it's cover. I wonder what the poor lad thought about it all, he probably still has nightmares about that strange woman who brazenly stole HIS KitKat

  2. Absolutely Fabulous. Had me laughing out loud. Very well told