Woman Thy Name Is Fickle
It’s a rare ocassion I lunch downstairs at the building’s cafe. The food served is tasty and the price is cheap but it occurred to me why I seldom patronise them.
Aside from the usual lunch hour rush and lack of tables, the customers are mostly women. The system is such that everyone takes an empty plate / styrofoam box, scoop their rice, select the dishes that are lined up and placed surrounding a square, continue around the corner to the other side and then pay at the counter, in true nasi campur style.
But the women, the women, oh my lordings. When they select the lauk, they use the ladle to pick the exact bits they want i.e. “I only want kailan leaves, not the stems,” OR “I only eat pieces of chicken without the skin,” OR “This dish looks like cauliflower, but I really want brocolli. Is there any brocolli in there?”
*kacau, kacau*
In my head I’d be screaming, “HELLOOO WOMAN IT’S JUST LUNCH NOT A MATCHMAKE SESSSION SO SOMETIME TODAY PLEASE!!!”
