Here it is, at three in the morning, and I'm wondering what I'll have for lunch. After paying my monthly insurance to the CCHP, there will be at least half a dozen places within a block or two for a delicious meal. My healthplan, clinic, physician, and the office where I'll hand over a cheque are in Chinatown.
When I chose that plan, I figured that because it was near my digs, and they had experience dealing with crusty old codgers swearing in different languages and not taking advice too gladly, it would suit me perfectly.
It turns out I was right.
Of course, I'm still working on them to also publish in Dutch, in addition to Chinese, Spanish, Vietnamese, and Tagalog. Bit of a slog. Especially seeing as Netherlanders in the United States are perfectly able to use English. More so if their ancestors came over centuries ago. So helpful pamflets on "suikerziekte" and "de griep" are not really necessary.
Lunch, however, IS necessary.
Een smakelijke middag maal in a restaurant waar er Sriracha saus (sambal) op elke tafel is, en waar men of Vietnamese koffie, of Hong Kong melk thee kan drinken, is noodzakelijk.
Along with enjoying a pipe of tobacco afterwards, and grocery shopping.
As well as people watching.
On my days off I need real people around me instead of Marinites.
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