Some months ago I stopped off at the Peking Moon for some Egg Flower Soup and fried rice.
As I flicked open my napkin, I heard the male half of the couple in the booth across from mine say — with a large amount of relief — “They’ve got some [deleted] guacamole!”
This caused me to blink, then I looked over at his plate and saw the pile of pale green paste sitting next to some of those fried egg noodles used for thickening soup.
You know, I was brought up with the understanding that offering unasked-for advice to those who were neither family nor friends just Wasn’t Done.
Every once in a while, I am reminded of the wisdom of this.
Gentleman turned to me, and to the evident mortification of his lady said, very softly and in a Not-From-Around-Here accent: “I don’t remember asking you a goddamned thing.”
“I especially don’t need some PC, multicultural, liberal [deleted]wipe telling me what to call something.”
I propped my chin in my left hand, feigning an expression of mild interest to cover my right hand casually loosening the lid on the bottle of sriracha sauce, just in case.
“A [deleted] spade is a [deleted] spade and I’m not going to call it a ‘ding ding ching how’ just because some gook handed it to me.” So saying, the gentleman promptly shoveled a large amount of the green paste onto a chip, popped it into his pie-hole and chewed with emphasis.
I’d like to say that I was a big enough man that I didn’t smile happily at him when he blinked, coughed, and then shot fluorescent green goo out his left nostril.
But I’d be lying.
If the old boy had a case of the hips towards “multiculturalism”, one would have to wonder what the hell he was doing in a Chinese restaurant owned by a Vietnamese clan and employing Mexican cooks to serve Japanese sushi and American BBQ chicken for patrons of various European and African descents? Not to mention insulting a Maltese-American of Scottish and Mohawk ancestry?
Hell, that’s practically the United Nations right there.
Apparently a nasal lavage of Japanese horseradish is not conducive to a Proper Dining Experience, because the gentleman and his lady friend left … probably about the time his vision cleared enough for him to drive.
I am reminded of this nasty little episode because yesterday I was drifting through Intake and guess who was hanging off the bars in the Detox tank slurring threats and curse-words at Detention Staff like an intoxicated gibbon?
I probably didn’t help matters much when I stopped and asked him if he’d figured out the difference between guacamole and wasabi yet.
Karma. It’s a wonderful thing.