Hick Chicks

We were parked outside the back door of one of the city’s finest restaurants, unloading boxes of organic greens, when a young woman popped out the kitchen door, approached us, and asked,

“Do you know where I can get the tea from here?”

I looked at my delivery partner; she looked blankly back at me. It turned out that we were both thinking the same thing: why would this person not ask the kitchen staff about their tea, and what was so good about it that she wanted some so badly?

I said, “ I’m sorry, what?”

“The tea,” she repeated. “You know, the train.”

Duh, oohhhh. The T. By way of explanation for my ignorance, I pointed to the out-of-state farm plate on the delivery van. She shook her head and went back inside the restaurant to ask less countrified people about transportation.