It really shouldn't surprise me, and I would be better off ignoring it entirely. But it irritated me, and spoiled my lunch, And I really should have learned by now not to enter an overcrowded chachanteng, because things happen then. Nor will I share this with my apartment mate. Even though it's her people and their unvarnished mouths.
Sometimes the Cantonese are densely crude.
Can't blame the two waitresses either. They know I speak Cantonese, and they are in no way responsible for the offensive crap that comes out of their customers' pie-holes.
Specifically, the frequent use, in casual conversation, of the term kwailo.
Not about me, but I was at that time the only kwailo there.
It's a rude term for white people.
Dammit, y'all.
I heard that term nearly a dozen times while there.
It made what should have been a pleasant meal tasteless, and I didn't even finish half of my plate of 榨菜肉絲炒米 ('
jaa choi yiuk si chaau mai'; preserved vegetable with meat shreds in stir-fried rice noodles). Which, normally, tastes divine with hot sauce. Couldn't even find the damned meat shreds, and my cup of milk tea was cold when I drank the last of it.
Three major reasons I can't discuss this with my apartment mate is that she is not like that, she would be upset on my behalf, and it would totally spoil her pleasure chowing down on the cooked crab and black bean sauce stir-fried clams (煙肉青椒豆豉炒蜆 '
') which I made for her birthday. Which was actually a few days ago, but that was during my work week, so we're doing it today.
There is no reason, nor any usefulness, for her to apologize for the repulsive vocabulary of some of her parents' fellow-villagers. Nor would I want it. I don't apologize for white folks sometimes being poisonous blisters either.
Some of them just are. It's a talent. And that's the way it is.
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