THE SHIFT CHANGE

One restaurant to which I go was opened a few years ago by someone I knew, but I rarely go there much nowadays, though I do like her place. Reason being that she herself isn't there often anymore, but a waitress whom I do not particularly like is. Said waitress very much prefers to ignore me. While I'm used to being ignored -- and don't mind me, I'll just sit here quietly dreaming over my tea till the food comes -- this one takes it to an extreme that isn't quite pleasant. I stopped going to another chachanteng nearby entirely because I noticed that crotchety old geezers my age but Cantonese were getting far better service.
And considerably more respect.

Ya know, some of us aren't as dense or oblivious as you think we are.
Anyway, I had not gone there in several weeks.

Today I went there again, mid afternoon. Oh joy, the waitress who treats me like a human being was there! And I thoroughly enjoyed my string beans stirfried with chicken over rice (四季豆雞飯 'sei gwai tau kai faan'). After I was finished I listened in on three healthcare professionals talking, mixed Canto and English, while dawdling over my milk tea.

Then I noticed, blast it, that the good waitress was being replaced by miss thing.
I'll have to make sure I remember what time the shift change happens.

It's between lunch and dinner, there's few people there.
Why does it take twenty minutes to get my check?
I know you heard me the first time.

Yes, I know middle-aged Dutchmen who smoke a pipe and can read your language are quite the nastiest thing in the universe. You live in a very small world, don't you? That old geezer who used to subtly sneer may have influenced you, but he now locomotes with an oxygen tank, and doesn't come in at all. So you might as well drop that attitude.

Zulke Toisanezen met hun rotte kapsones.


Some people from the countryside treat Hong Kongers with deference, because they know the tahi will hit the kipas if they don't. Normal Anglos also get decent treatment; who knows what those Karens will do if not? Regular foreigners also, there's that unpredictability and if you keep them happy they won't complain, they're quick, they'll pay, and leave.
But eccentric locals who speak Cantonese?
Eh, the heck with it.



There are four restaurants that proudly state that they are Toishanese.
I am, as you would expect, hesitant to even try them.
Seeing as I'm one of those.
You know.




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