Jennifer Jones worked at Tim Hortons in Kandahar, Afghanistan, for six months. When she wrote this essay, she was a month away from returning home. I pass it on, word for word, to give you, as it did her, a greater appreciation for our soldiers – and our country.
“My alarm goes off just before 5am. I pull on my bathrobe, pad down the hallway and open the plywood door to a gravel road and a line of large rounded tents surrounded by concrete highway dividers. The sun is already up, and hundreds of birds have congregated in the few trees to bid the morning welcome with their cheerful chatter. It is almost cool, but the promise of 50-degree heat hangs in the air.
I walk over sand and gravel to the shower trailer. This early in the morning I have the place to myself, which doesn’t happen often. The trailer is ripe with the smells of chlorine and disinfectant, and I hurry back to my tent where I’m living for six months and change into my uniform. I put on sand-coloured pants and a shirt, my name tag and a desert camouflage hat. As I arrive at work, there’s already a lineup, so I hustle in the side door. My coworkers are bustling about, making coffee and stocking cups. I grab a hairnet, put it on under my cap and take my place as the doors open.
This is no ordinary Tim Hortons. I work on the Kandahar military base in Afghanistan.
The store is roughly in the middle of the base. In the centre is a large sand-and-gravel field where the Americans play football and the Brits play cricket. There’s a ball hockey rink right outside our store where we watch the Canadian troops play enthusiastic games of hockey in the sweltering heat. Other food outlets and stores line two sides of the board-walk in the sand.
The store is actually a trailer and in the mornings, with six people behind the counter, it’s a busy place. We rush about in a practiced ballet of coffee and doughnuts, calling out orders and dodging the bakers as they come to fill up the showcase. Sometimes I marvel that we don’t crash one another.
We can often tell what someone will order just by looking at the uniform. The Canadian troops usually just want a double-double, known as a NATO Standard over here. Sometimes we tempt them into an apple fritter.
The Americans prefer honey dips with regular coffee, whereas the Brits can’t turn down a Boston cream or Canadian maple. They’re also partial to French vanilla cappuccinos. When the cappuccino machine is temporarily out of service, we almost have a mutiny on our hands.
‘No French vanilla?’ A group of four British soldiers gasp and moan. ‘What are we supposed to do?’
‘What will you do when you go home?’ I ask. ‘You’ll have to start a franchise in Sussex.’
‘Oh we’ll just order the French vanilla online then.’ They grin and buy two cans of the mix to tide them over.
I enjoy seeing our regulars as well as the new faces that arrive all the time.
‘Good mornin,’ m’love! And how’re you today?’ one of the older soldiers from Newfoundland lilts. His face is tanned and his blue eyes sparkle as he smiles. I return his smile and say, ‘Just great! And you?’
‘Oh, livin’ the dream,’ he laughs and orders his morning coffee. I know he’ll be back three or four more times before the day’s end.
The Tim Hortons caps we wear are perhaps the most in demand.
‘Can I have six double-doubles and a hat?’
‘How much for your hat, darlin’?’
We hear these questions all day long. Conversation is mostly casual and lighthearted.
‘Make my coffee better than his,’ one soldier jokes, pointing to his friend. ‘Give him the old stuff.’
‘Are you still here? I thought you’d be home by now! When do they let you out?’ ”
(Continued next week)
Take care, ‘cause we care.
barrie@barriehopkins.ca 519-843-4544