The Dim Sum Drama (Flash Fiction Part 2)

This is the 2nd part of the story. The 1st part is here.

Anyway, it is a Saturday, but I work the whole day to finish an urgent document. When I finally finish everything, it is 8:30PM already. Driving home, I pass Bamboo Palace, thinking that I should reward myself with a nice dinner. Everybody at home has already finished their meal as I have told them not to wait for me. Even if I go home, I would still be eating alone. What’s the point? I might as well stop by Bamboo Palace and have their wonton noodle soup

Asian restaurants in NYC have good dinner business. But in New Jersey, there are very few people for dinner, unless it was a holiday. Saturday or Sunday nights are better than weekday nights, but still there are only 10 customers left in the restaurant when I step in, who occupy one big table and one small one.

The chef and the waiters and waitresses have already started their own dinner at a big table close to the entrance. A big bowl of stewed meat and turnip is placed in the middle of the table, together with a big bowl of rice.

The owner is not joining the chef and waiters. He stands idle near the entrance. I guess he is vigilant that when the customers of the two tables have any demand, he will wait on them.

Since he is the only person available, I come close to him and says I would like to have a bowl of wonton noodle soup. He asks me if it is to go, but I says it is for here since I’m hungry and want to eat right there. He hesitates and tells me that they are finishing up and I should order to go, but I say no again and tell him that I will be quick and it will only take me like 15 minutes to finish the meal, which will not delay them if they want to close down soon.

He tells me it is too late and I should order to go. My family must be waiting for me at home. I tell him that everybody at home has already had their dinner, and I have worked the whole day and want to reward myself with something nice to eat. He gives me a severe look, turns around, and goes to the kitchen. Ten minutes later, he brings out the wonton noodle soup in a to-go container in a brown paper bag. As he is putting the brown paper bag into the plastic bag, and adding plastic spoon and chopsticks, I come closer to the counter, take the paper bag from him and go to a table and sit down.

He is so surprised that I could defy him that he stands still for a moment. Then he comes to my table, as if he is trying to grab my wonton noodle soup from me. With one hand holding tightly to the top rim of my soup container–it is hot–I start to eat the noodle. I am so hungry. He stares at me first and then starts to mumble something: it is so late and I should be home and I have an obligation to be home and his restaurant is for respectable people etc.

I don’t understand what he is doing and what he is talking about, but I am too hungry to care what he is thinking. Probably the restaurant work finally drags him into madness and he is more fit for a loony bin than anywhere else.

I eat as quickly as possible. When I finish, I realize that the other customers have left and he is at the front counter. I move to the counter to pay for the food and add the usual tip, but he says, in an angry tone, that he accepts the tip since as a businessman it is unlucky for him to refuse tips but I am not supposed to come to his restaurant alone, at this hour, and sit down to eat dinner.

“What are you talking about?” I ask him loudly, but he is not listening to me. He gives me back my change, but not in a polite way, almost throwing the few dollars on the counter in contempt. Then he just walks away, leaving me standing there, confused.

It is later that I realize what he is trying to do. By going there at this hour and alone, I have fallen from the pedestal built for respectable women he thinks his restaurant should serve.

When I tell my friends what happened, they all start to laugh. And then they tell me the strange stories they have heard of this owner, which really astonish me. It turns out there’s a reason why he has such a fervor for such an old fashioned concept of respectability.

(To Be Continued Here)