Timmies Times Three: More Tim Hortons in Literature

I continue to document my encounters with Tim Hortons in Canadian literature. The first two installments of quotations can be found here and here. This time I've got a really long, really funny excerpt from Eden Robinson's Trickster Drift, so I'm going to stop at three instead of waiting for more.

Johnny watches the steady onslaught of Sunday afternoon coffee-junkies gushing in and out of Tim Hortons. The drive-in cars lined up all the way into the hotel parking lot across the way like some nullified serpent. Two girls tucked in under the one umbrella, wolfing back a smoke. A man with a small boy on his shoulders and the boy cracks his head off the doorframe on the way inside. Johnny watches through the front windows at the boy screeching and the gangly man, the boy's father or uncle or something, tryna quiet him down with a five-dollar bill.

-from We'll All Be Burnt in Our Beds Some Night by Joel Thomas Hynes, p. 78
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Mave rolled down her window and studied the menu board as if it were a secret treasure map. Jared willed himself to unclench his jaw.
"Welcome to Tim Hortons," a young woman's voice droned over the intercom. "How can I help you?"
"I don't think you understand your potential," Mave said.
"I didn't catch that, ma'am. Are you ordering poutine?"
"Potential!" Mave yelled into the intercom. "The possibility contained within you before full realization."
"Good, 'cause we don't make poutine here."
"How did you decide what you wanted to do with your life, if you don't mind me asking?"
The line of cars was growing behind them. A man yelled, "Fucking order already!"
Jared peered in the side mirror. The yelling man was behind them in the black SUV. He laid on his horn. Jared sighed. Trust his luck to finally make it to Vancouver and get shot because he was between some asshat and his caffeine fix.
"I hated retail," the attendant was saying over the intercom. "This was close to my apartment and I don't have to do the night shift. It's kind of boring, but I like being home when my kids get home."
"Order a fucking coffee like a normal person!" the SUV guy shouted.
"He's going to shoot us if you don't order," Jared said.
"Some people," Mave said.
"Amen," the woman said. "I miss real winters. I'd move home if there were any jobs there."
"Where's home?"
"Just a sec, honey," the woman said.
Honk. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Honk. Another voice chimed in: "Some of us have lives, you know."
The intercom crackled. "Uh-huh. Okay, uh, my manager is going to give you a free coffee if you get out of line."
"What a sweetie! Do you want anything, Jelly Bean?"
"No, nothing. I'm good."
"Don't worry. I'm paying."
"Let's just move."
"Are you too shy to ask for what you want?"
"He sounds shy," the woman said.
Honk. Honk. Honk.
"A grilled cheese panini," Jared said. "Okay? Can we go?"
"Oh, that sounds good. I'll have one of those too."
"My boy loves it with ham."
"That sounds better," Mave said. "One regular and one with ham on multigrain."
He checked his phone, more for something to look at, something to do.
"I worry too," Mave said as they pulled up to the takeout window and a pale blond woman with black rings of eyeliner leaned over and smiled at them.
"Sorry if I got you in trouble," Mave said to her.
"Not a problem. That guy behind you is a regular. His wife left him for his business partner and he's cheesed at the world."
"Hey, add his order to my bill, okay? Tell him I understand heartbreak."

-from Trickster Drift by Eden Robinson, p. 73-75
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The postscript was always something Zareena missed about Canada. Her words brought the taste of maple dip donuts and too-sweet hot chocolate to his lips. Their father, Raheem, used to treat them on the way back from Sunday morning Islamic school when they were kids. Before Zareena went away.
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"You made me look bad in front of those horrible women," Nani said in Urdu. "They're going to think we didn't do a good job raising you. I'm going to teach you how to cook, right now. Grab some onions and garlic-ginger paste."
Ayesha looked alarmed. From the living room came Nana's voice. "Beti, you promised to take me to Tim Hortons."
"But Nana, you just had tea," Idris said, his lips twitching. Unlike his older sister, he got a kick out of causing trouble.
"I wish to purchase an apple fritter," Nana said with dignity. "I shall be waiting in the automobile."
"You can teach me to cook when I come back. Or maybe tomorrow," Ayesha said. She kissed her grandmother on the cheek and hurried outside.

-from Ayesha at Last by Uzma Jalaluddin, Chapter 3 and 10