Leah Song
Google
One of the most entertaining cafés I’ve ever visited — though sadly, not for the coffee. No one thought it necessary to tell me I had to hand my receipt to another staff member. When I asked, a young man with a tragic middle-parted perm informed me, “No one can read your mind,” before raising his hands like a mime to demonstrate how I should pass the receipt. Five stars for theatre, zero for professionalism.
He then returned to what appeared to be his real job — publicly kissing and flirting with a female colleague beside the coffee machine. Hygiene, evidently, is optional here if romance is in the air.
The barista (also with a perm) and a woman with a high ponytail offered similarly frosty service to most customers — unless, of course, the customers happened to be Italian. Then, as if by magic, smiles, quick service and warm greetings would emerge. Truly, this must be the spirit of the Ara Pacis — peace and service, but only for the homeland.
To be fair, a couple of the slightly older staff were more courteous. Unfortunately, every younger staff member I encountered was absolutely appalling — rude, uninterested, and far too absorbed in themselves to offer anything resembling decent service.
If you enjoy theatrical gestures, selective politeness, and a reminder of what state-sponsored self-importance feels like, you’ll love it here. Personally, once was quite enough.
