Pumpkin Café Waitress.

I feel sorry for the woman who works in the Pumpkin Café on platform eleven at Temple Meads. I think she's German or from a country that borders Germany. She's never anything but polite and I'm sure she isn't stupid. She has to wear a maroon polo-shirt and a black baseball cap (I hate that Britain has adopted this ridiculous US tradition).
This morning, I notice a rash around her mouth, either an outbreak of acne or eczema or similar. And I think, the poor woman must be stressed. Here she is, stuck behind a till dealing with all manner of freaks on a daily basis for no money.
I say, 'Could I have a bacon bap please?'
She says, 'I'm just going to wash my hands first, is that okay?'
'Yes of course,' I say.
'Would you like a drink with that madame?'
(the madame grates, I'm not a plump middle aged woman who smells of patchouli and I don't think for a second she would normally use the term).
'No, thank you.'
'Okay...Have a good day!'she says, leaning over the counter to assert her geniuneness.
'You too,' I say (I really hope she does).
It's like a mask. What I want to say is, 'where are you from? What are you doing here? Are you alright?'