Sunday, June 05, 2022


Sometime today, at work, I'll smoke a pipe that reminds me of two Chinese American gentlemen. The first one had a seizure a few years ago near the corner of Clay Street and Grant Avenue. While bystanders attended to him, and the ambulance came, I realized that my Cantonese was just not sufficient to be of any use whatsoever at that moment.
I lacked the vocabulary that the situation required.

The second gentleman was upset that a particular dish at a restaurant was not as he thought it should be. Understandable, because when you want a particular taste, getting something else can be distressing. What he was in fact remembering was an Americanized version which is probably only available in suburbia or at eateries catering mostly to kwailo.
But his emotional response was no less valid for that.
And very keenly felt.

"This is not as it should be. The world is coming to an end, this is a sign of the coming apocalypse. Or at least a darker colder place. Woe."

Many suburbanites have undoubtedly felt the same way. Fortunately for them, the McRib sandwich has come back several times, the special sauce has returned occasionally also.
And everything at Olive Garden can be reproduced at Ruby Thunder or Thursday Box.

The dollar pancakes at the breakfast place weren't that good anyway, but they were small and 'precious'. The coffee was American standard, meaning fairly ghastly. The ambiance, however, that was 'it'. That's why people lined up around the block.

The pipe isn't that special. But it's a memory device.
I really shouldn't be going in to work today. I feel greater discomfort from a whole variety of factors than usual in the morning (which is why I woke up early). But duty calls, and we can't have just one person holding down the fort. In any case, it's the last workday of my week, and I will be off tomorrow.

I think I'll look for the box with the Comoy Blue Ribands then. There are some Lovatts in there I need to revisit. The briars of my misspent early adulthood. Memories.

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