MICRO ACHIEVEMENTS

On a day such as today, one reviews what one has achieved that deserves mention. Birthdays are a perfect opportunity to take stock, count up the blessings, and dwell on all of life's memorable victories.
Being a total realist, I ain't gonna do that.
Instead, let's just review today.


MORNING

Coffee and a coughing jag, due to the tail-end of a respiratory infection.
Lots of grumbling.


NOON

More coffee. More coughing.
Grumble grumble.


MID AFTERNOON

After a prolonged squawk about the horrid, horrid weather we're having, which makes it impossible to wear a jacket because it's too dang hot, and therefore one's smoking supplies have to be paired down to the very barest minimum -- only one pipe, already pre-loaded, and four pipe cleaners, no more -- the grumpy birthday person made it down to Chinatown.

I should know better than to go the chachanteng on Washington when the people I like aren't working. The snippy lady who works there on Tuesdays still doesn't recognize me, still can't understand my Cantonese, and still demands payment right now. And she nickle'n dimes every step of the way.
Some of it is undoubtedly that stinko attitude that some people have when it comes to Lofans, assuming that we're all rapists and thieves who are going to piss in our seats and run off without paying, some of it is simply an arrogant Hong Kong bitchiness toward everybody. She also snapped (in English!) at a Cantonese lady who simply wanted a pastry and a soda, and she firmly told an elderly Toisanese gentleman precisely where she wanted him to sit! down! and nowhere else.

One white guy waited for twenty minutes before just leaving.
Auld Missus Charm paid him no mind whatsoever.
Customer service, not a clue.

I am quite desensitized to crappy attitudes, but someone may deserve the "up yours Tinkerbelle" award.

Next time better look inside and see who is working before going in.

There are other places to get milk tea.

No coughing.


LATE AFTERNOON

I smoked my pipe at the northern end of Walter Lum, from where I had a splendid view of the newest stark-raving batshit loonies in Portsmouth Square Park. One of whom has an interior dialogue going that may persuade her towards violence or interpretive dance soon, another of whom has a lovely shiny Buddha belly. No, as a smoker I cannot make use of the park; that's strictly for the bug-loose creeps, who of course must be protected from exposure to tobacco.
Tobacco is EVIL.

Unlike pot, which is perfectly kosher.


EARLY EVENING

Watched a little girl play with her mother's hair at the edge of the park.
Then she and her parents went to get ice cream.
It was charming. I don't think they realized that.

Listened in on four Cantonese ladies on bus across the hill. One of whom has a soft pretty face. Then picked up my down comforter from the dry cleaners, and headed home.

My apartment mate brought a huge amount of roast duck from Chinatown.
Pure rich greasy deliciousness!
And there is cake!
Cake!


*      *      *      *      *


Later on I shall have coffee and head over to Chinatown for a restrained drinkipoo at a place of dissolution.
It will take a strong mind to keep it within reason.
Management there is delusional.




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