THE BADGER UNGRUNTLED

You know I relish my weekend meals in Chinatown, right? These are highpoints, welcome respites.
I like the hubbub around me, the snide snarky remarks I get to overhear by people unaware that some white people actually speak Cantonese. And I enjoy the liveliness, vibrancy, and unvarnished expressing of gut-feelings, witty insights, ire, frustration, joy, and ‘dang-I-got-away-with-that’ that also burble-up among the locals. Good food in a noisy place, after which I'll wander around a bit smoking a pipe before heading over to the office to read for the rest of the day.

Yesterday I had cause for disgruntlement.
The service at one of my semi-regular food stops stank.
No, I shan’t mention which one. It was probably a fluke.
But it will be several months before I go there again.

Normally the person at the counter is a man in his late thirties or early forties. He recognizes me and sometimes absentmindedly assumes that he heard one thing when I actually said something else, such as the time I ordered the bittermelon stirfried with chicken chunks over rice, and instead got the fresh greens and fish over rice.

[Bittermelon stirfried with chicken chunks over rice (涼瓜鷄球飯 leung gwa kai kau fan) versus fresh greens and fish over rice (菜遠蘢利魚飯 choi yuen lung lei yu fan): you will note that these two dishes sound nothing at all alike. And no, it wasn't my accent, as he and I have had conversations before. He just wasn't listening attentively. Rather an amusing situation, and I didn't want to embarrass him by pointing out the error, so I just quietly ate the food.]


YOU FINISHED?!?

This time it was a sour, sharp, and plumpish woman working the counter. My friend wasn't around, and the atmosphere was consequently far less hospitable, more institutional. Brusque.
No soup with my food. Apathy, arrogance, and impatience were abundantly displayed, though not at me, because once I had placed my order the woman simply ignored me. She snapped at one of the employees, next told a large group that if they wanted decent service they should have called in their preferences ahead. Growled at a toddler, and made a snippy remark upon hanging up the phone.
Then asked "you finished?", and before I could even respond, smacked the bill down on the counter.
I had really wanted a little bit more tea.
No hope of that, I guess.

Not even a fortune cookie.

She has a talent for being uncharming in three languages.
I know I should mention the name of the restaurant.
If only to warn people away from the woman.
But I would not want to do that.

The restaurant been around for years, and they are well-known for their chicken wings. Plus the gentleman who usually works there on Saturday afternoons is a very likeable sort, albeit sometimes abstracted.
It's a really capital place.
The food is good.


幸運餅乾 HANG WAN BENG-GON

By the way, I know they have fortune cookies. Not that fortune cookies are an important part of the meal, but when everyone else gets fortune cookies, it's rather galling to be left out. And yes, I am taking it personally, even though it was probably an oversight caused by apathesis, gripe, snoot, and foul-temper. Maybe something went south in her life. Maybe she's frustrated that the only husband she's likely to have is a country bumpkin Toishanese blister who smells bad and eats too much. Maybe she didn't get to push some rich old coot off the end of a pier.
Maybe her pick-up truck stalled on the great freeway of life, her spoiled-brat high-school classmates drove by hooting, and the dark stinky liquids dripping from the carburetor of her emotions stained all of her designer handbags.
Her Hello Kitty doll bit her. Bad hair day. Arm-pit itch. Fungus.
The Benz is on the fritz, some kwailo got her parking spot, the bus driver demanded she pay.
But even with all those things going wrong in her life, she should've remembered the bloody fortune cookie.
What?!?!?!?!?!?!
I don't get one because I'm just a single solitary middle-aged badger?
My hair is combed, my beard and mustache are trimmed.
I've got clean hands, and I am neatly dressed.
Well-behaved and very presentable.
Where's my damned cookie?

Yeah, now I'm finished.


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