clawingmywayin

I’d stopped off for a bite of lunch in the Scottish Border town of Melrose.  It was a cloudy, cool day, and as I warmed up over some homemade tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, the Appalachian sounds of Dolly Parton’s voice drifted through the small tea shop.  I can’t quite remember the particular song, but it must have been part of a compilation of her greatest hits as more songs followed.  Not exactly the music I thought I’d hear in Scotland, but it seemed to work for some reason.

I finished up my lunch and headed to the counter to pay, still not noticing the sign that very plainly stated that credit cards were only accepted on purchases of ten pounds or more.  Even in the pricey UK, my spartan lunch didn’t make that threshold, so I found myself in a stare down with the young man behind…