So this is a piece of something I started few weeks back
when i'm tired of telling things about my january?
It was some dark days, I had to keep on writing before I lose myself.
I love writing.
Writing tells me who I am.
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There is always another FINE day.
Just as fine.
On the afternoon that I met her, I was on shift with yi meng. It was just another day when I
clean my trays, do the trash and serving happy meals. It wasn’t any
particularly busy in the store, everyone just come in, some families, some
friends, some old friends, some just all by themselves. Yi Meng still throw me
a look every time she got near my station. We planned to go shopping after
work, and probably will have my favourite five guys burger.
So there is this old lady.
She was lining patiently behind a family. The father had the
4-year-old to order his own meal, that’s what took so long. The little boy had
problem deciding between cheeseburger and chicken nuggets. He had me changed
the order a few times, that I can already feel the laser-eyes shot from my
manager right towards me.
Yet I smiled, just working up to my regular pace. The
rule is, never give a shit of your managers’ emotions. They are supposed to be
numb.
So I serve off the family, and here comes the old lady. I
began to recognize her over a number of her visits.
Most of the time, she would
go with a mcchicken and pair with a cone. Or sometimes she end up with a 6
piece nuggets happy meal, and she will always return me the toy.
“Why not you keep it?” I say, “You can keep for your
grandchildren”
“Oh no, it’s ok. “ She replies.
“Or I’ll take it and give you a cone instead, but we gotta
keep that from my manager” I suggest in a much softer voice
“Oh? Haha, that is really nice of you! But I am fine.
Thanks” as she pushes the toy towards me.
“Well then I will keep the toy for some other kids then.” I
gave in with a smile.
She smiled, picked up her handbag, and went into the ladies
before she left through the side door.
Frankly speaking, she is just an old lady, much like any other
old lady from the neighborhood. She is properly dressed with a 2-piece suit,
carries a decent handbag, wears a pair of teacher’s glasses, and speaks in an
appropriate volume and speed.
And she sometimes leaves me some chocolate as tips.
Now that I recall, I have met plenty of old people during
that winter itself.
But she, she is the one that I actually had a chance to sit
down and talk with. That was on my last week of stay in Camphill. I randomly
walked into a really nice looking breakfast place, and am surprised to see her
behind the counters. I must have made the surprising face for she smiled at me
and mentioned how strange it is to serve me instead of being served by me.
I looked around the shop as she passes me the menu. It is a
handmade menu by some kids, some kids with no access to computers. It is
actually just a piece of paper glued to a brown cardboard. There are some
obviously-randomly-cut shapes here and there around the menu. I, as usual, have
the choice with the biggest portion(or at least named that way)-The BIG
Breakfast, and a cup of hot milk. Funny to think how I always thought a cup of
hot milk is a luxury, like whichever shop that serves luxury, will have
themselves a special seat in my list of “Nice and thoughtful shops”.
She has this lil’ open kitchen bar seats, so I shifted
myself there, expecting to grab some chats with her. I asked about why she
serves hot milk? She looked kinda puzzled by the question, but still she
replied,
“why not? I have a microwave, and I have milk”, as she pour
the milk into a cup
“Because it wasn’t that common back in my hometown” I said.
“Where are you from?” closing the microwave door, she is.
“I’m from Malaysia.” Me, expecting her to ask what is
Malaysia.
“Malaysia? Somewhere near China?” She opens the fridge.
“Nope, it’s underneath Thailand.” Me, all prepared.
“Oh, Thailand. Bangkok? Sorry I’m not good at this places
thing” She turned to me with a sorry-smile
“oh no its ok, like I never understand the difference
between the west and the east of America” I said.
“Is this your first time here?” serving me the hot milk
“yea, first time exploring the world all by myself” me
feeling the milky hot steam
“So how is it going with you so far? Any good?” She getting the plate
“Not bad I guess, working in the mcdonalds, meeting all sort
of people, and WINTER!” sudden excitement by me
“here you go, the breakfast. I hated the winter” She serves
the food
“Haha, I thought winter was the best weather before I came,
then now I’m on the hunt again, for a place of spring all year round.” I sliced
the sausages.
‘DING DING’
The bell on the corner of the door chimes as a huge-figured
guy walks in with his newspaper. He didn’t bother to look anywhere but just sat
right beside me. As he sat, he threw the newspaper on the table and took a
minute fitting himself into the seat comfortably.
As he sat, the lady, of lightning speed, served him a cup of
coffee almost immediately.
He took a sip, and began to look less harmful. At least I thought
so.
I pluck up my courage and said, “Good Morning”
He turned to me and was about to say the same, except it
came out as, “Aren’t you that mcdonalds girl?”
I wasn’t ready for that, so I guess I looked clumsy for a
second in there, in which he went on saying, “is this really that surprising?”
To think of that, I have always been the kind of Mcdonalds
worker that the management would hate. The kind who would give extra French
fries, extra drinks, extra apple slices and stuffs like that. I love seeing the
customers went off with a smile. Anyone by the counter could have been through
a terrible day, why not make it a little bit less horrid? My manager may not
agree with me, but who cares anyway?
“I just never thought I’d ever be remembered as something
called ‘the mcdonalds girl’, it’s not flattering, but I’ll still take it as a
compliment” I replied him.
“Oh hahahaha, I noticed some of you Chinese in that
particular store. You and your friends, how long have you guys been here?” He
drank his coffee, while the lady is cooking what better to be named, his
routine, I guess.
“A couple of months, but we’re leaving soon, real soon. Like
next week.” I said
“Next week? No way! All of you?! Where are you heading?” He
said, relatively calm.
“Some of us are leaving this weekend, but me and 3 other
girls are leaving only next week. We’re kicking start our travel plan! Starting
off with New York.” I say, slicing my last piece of sausage, and damn, aren’t
those the best sausages I have ever had or WHAT!
“Oh right, I heard from your friends that you guys are of
some sort of work and travel plan” finally getting his big breakfast too, but
unlike mine, he got it double of my portion.
“Yeap, and finally we have reached the travel part.” I say,
while having a hard time scooping the scrambled eggs for myself.
“That must be real good fun, you know, I used to travel a
lot when I was younger. I have been to Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur, Singapore,
Indonesia, Vietnam…. a whole long list I can go.” Him speaking as the lady grabs
a seat in front of me.
“That sounds fun, how old were you back then?” I ask
“well, young. Too young maybe?” he says, as he wobbled a
whole piece of pancake coated in some golden maple syrup.
“Never too young!!!!” I say, and act all determined with my
fist held tight.
He and the lady laughed.
We then went on and talked about Asia, and a little bit of
Africa.
The old lady sat there, just listening.
Then I out of nowhere, began to tell my once-upon-a-time
dream of having small little restaurant or café like this. Small, warm, cozy,
quietly fantastic I say. I told them I promised my friend I would name my
restaurant ‘eat n run’. They all laughed and asked why. I told them about my
food friends, I told them about the marvelous food I have in my pretty little
Penang Island, I told them about my favorite fruit is durian and it is the king
fruits, I even tell them I think the bananas they have in the mart are
pathetic.
We all laughed.
The man then turned to the old lady and say, “it’s funny how
this girl reminds of me Steve”
“She resembles him in many way.” Says the lady, still
smiling
“Steve who?” I asked
“My son, Steve.” The lady ended.
“Oh where is he now?” I ask, not realizing she might prefer
the conversation to stop right there.
“Last time I heard, he was in Thailand.” The lady speaks,
though she looks towards the entrance of the shop, it was as if she is staring
through everything and looking into the past.
“When was it? Like 5 years ago?” The man lifted his head up
a little bit, and looked down again.
“5 years? He was in Thailand 5 years ago?” I asked
“ya, or so I was told” The lady adjusted her posture a bit,
as if she was gonna stand and leave, but she settled down
“….Can I ask what happened? But if you don’t feel like
telling, its definitely fine” who else but me
“No worries, it isn’t any big of a deal.” She smiles, “Steve
is my son. He turned 33 2 months ago.”
She began flipping something from a drawer down the counter.
“He ran away from home when he was 16, here, this is him
when he was 4” the lady handed over a picture.
As much as the man beside me seems to be concentrating in
his breakfast and the newspaper, I have a feeling that he is actually listening
very closely. Probably because he looks TOO concentrate, such simple action
will look very strange especially when you are overdoing it.
I took a good look at the picture; there is a little boy in
his sailor suit. The background should be some sort of park or lake. I then
looked at the lady again, expecting her to continue the story.
“He was like any other boy, naughty, playful, just a really
active boy. I would bring him to the park most of the weekends, with his
father. Most of the families would do the same, it is almost a routine. Steve
loves playing kites in the park, and he is pretty good at it.” She, holding the
picture.
“After the park, we would go to this diner on Python Street.
It used to be my sister’s, Steve loves the burger there. But my sister sold it
few years back, it used to be at the corner of the Dollar-tree store.” She
added.
Awkward silence or like 30 seconds, just the sound of
newspaper flipping by the guy.
I think he is flipping a little bit too much,
proof of over-acting #2!
“Well then, he just ran away. No notes. No apparent reason
why, at least not that I know.” The lady continued after what could be the
longest pause. “We weren’t the best parents to him maybe, and it’s too late
when we realized.”
“…….. I don’t know what to say.” I was of pure honesty
“ahhh~ it was long ago. He still keep in touch with my
sister’s son. And I’m pretty glad that he is doing okay. He has his life, and I
have my life. I got that going for me and I think that’s pretty nice.” She
stood up and start working with my leftovers.
The man bottom-up his coffee and asked for the bill.
I, too, walked to the counter and have a good look over the
shop itself.
A very customized shop, with a story. Kind of cliché, but oh
well, not every stories deserve a noble prize on being philosophic.
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That night, yi meng and I went late-dinner at the Mcdonald’s
we normally work at. We wanted to meet the overnight staffs once again and to
have some pictures with them.
Lance had fun joking around and we talked about random funny
experiences we had back then. I still remember clearly the first time he showed
me how to make an Orange Fanta Slurpee. Also the first time he saw me putting
salt into cokes and said he wanted to try. He ended up saying that tasted like
water with dead body in it.
“arhhhh you American will never understand” I say, sipping
my salty coke.
It was fun. Best time I had was back in that mcdonald’s
kitchen fooling around with them. There was this one time when Lance asked me
to count how many pack of sauces left, and I did it the Chinese way like 2 4 6
8 10, and I was counting in Chinese. Then when I’m done, I said a loud and
clear “22” in Chinese. He looked at me all lost and was a little bit amazed. I
went on telling him about the Chinese tend to count with multiplication 2 by 2.
In between, I mentioned about I’m bad at math or so. The statement got both
Lance and Brian triggered, they started making random math problem for me to
solve.
It was all about 55+22-46 or 46 x 2 -57. For an accounting
student, these are probably the thing that ran in my head everyday. I had them
all solved super easily and they went all,
“AND YOU ARE BAD AT MATH?!!!!!!!!”
I explained to them that I am bad at the type of math where
they put the alphabet in. Something like 3x – 4y + 5z. Until today, I remember
exactly both of their faces when I explain, they began saying,
“THAT IS CALLED
CALCULUS!”.
And Brian, he repeated “CALCULUS IS NOT MATH” for twice and
he says,
“Calculus is not math, its like MAAAAAAATH” in the funny
tone we used to hear on TV, like how people prolong the vocal pronunciation
when they are confused.
Lance then added, “Calculus is not math, it’s like down the
street at the corner of math”.
I laughed off and say, “I’m sorry, but I’m Asian.”
So then we reminisces all these funny parts and I began
telling Yi Meng about that old lady.
“That old lady, remember not? The one you say always come
for ice cream only one leh!” broken English is Asian style.
“the happy meal aunty ar?” broken English is how Asian roll.
“ YA YA YA, she la! This morning, I went to her shop to eat
breakfast leh.” Broken English is Asian being friendly.
“Uh huh, then what? Give you free ar?” Broken English is Asian feeling home.
“No la! She tell me Her son run away, I think when he was 17
like that, I not very remember” Broken English is Asian’s secret code.
“GUYS, stop, there are Americans who speak normal English
here.” Brian looked over
I looked to him and tell him about the old lady. Lance must
have heard, well he is, after all, nosy.
“That lady? The one who always comes around eleven?” Lance
“Yes! The one I told you the other day, she always get happy
meals without the toys.” Me
“I thought her son is dead.” Lance, looking serious.
“she told me he ran away.” Me, as my suspicious pooled
themselves together slowly.
“No.. her son is dead. The whole neighborhood knows that.”
Lance, getting more and more confident.
“but she says…..” my mind is a bush, and I’m beating around
it.
“No wait, she said he ran away,” Brian looked towards me,
and then he looked to Lance, “while all the others say he is dead; that somehow
make sense too. He ran away, and he died.”
“Or probably she THOUGHT he ran away, but in fact he is
dead.” Lance, wiping the milkshake machine.
“But! She mentioned the cousin! The one her son kept in
touch with?” Me
“That’s easy, the cousin lied.” Brian.
“For future reference, in this world, people lie.” Lance,
giving me life lesson.
Lance served me a McGangBang, and Yi Meng got her rainbow
shake.
We stayed until next day morning, until they changed shifts
and took a quick picture with us before they left.
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