Now there comes a time when one finds a leaflet for a new Chinese restaurant in one’s lobby, and one decides to carpe some diem and take a chance on life. One is too lazy to cook celebrating Mr. H’s last day at his old job. One places a call and ends up performing a slow-paced dramatic monologue of one’s address. Let’s try that again…. THIRTY five River… no…Thirty FIVE River…no…. R-I-V-E-R….R as in rangoon, I as in island, V as in vermicelli, E as in eggroll, R as in rangoon again.
One does not hold high hopes for delivery of this meal. One gets a return call from the restaurant in five minutes. One recites one’s credit card number for the thirteenth time.
The food arrives, much to one’s surprise. It is delicious! One notices that the ginger ale Mr. H requested is not in the bag. One calls the restaurant just to let them know. The restaurant representative has a seizure. Honor has been insulted. The driver will be dispatched at once. No, really, you can refund the card, or take it off the bill the next time we order, or just forget about it, we mean no disrespect!
The ginger ale arrives hours later. The arrival of the ginger ale wakes up a ybab. Justice is served on multiple levels. Why did Mr. H fiddle with the universe by ordering a ginger ale?