IT'S TOO COLD FOR THAT

Because of the weather, the business was bad. But the waiter welcomed me and took my order. He seemed like a relic from a distant era in his neat clothing that would have been perfect for one of the Chinatown restaurants back in the fifties. Stylish even. Black pants, pressed shirt, waistcoat. Also, his shoes were polished I believe.

Possessed of an old fashioned reserve.
A man with self respect.
Professional.

The kind of man you address as elder born (先生 'sin saang'; mister), rather than uncle (叔叔，阿叔 'suk suk', 'aa suk'). And whose surname you should find out, because a correct adress softens the distance. So and so elder born. Still formal, but by using his surname indicating that there is a respectable distance but not an impersonal gulf.
Definitely 'sin saang' instead of 'ah sook'.

Indeed, I shall go there again. The food was good, the ambiance suits me.

And neither one of us reacted to the occasional salt-of-the-earth language issuing forth from the kitchen. Not dining room suitable, but not expressed in the dining room.
It was a private discussion, so to speak.


Next time, I'll just sit a little further away from the kitchen.


It had been barely raining when I arrived. It had mostly stopped, barely a sprinkle, when I left and lit my pipe. I caught a bus after a while and finished my pipe on the front steps of my building. It was too cold to flutter around like a gay little butterfly.



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