I was surfing the interwebs, and came across this:
Today my wife (who is far more gorgeous than I deserve) and I were out running some errands and found ourselves far from food getting along about 1:30 p.m. Since I am diabetic, we decided that discretion was the better part of valor, even though things have been tight, and stopped at a Chinese buffet in Goldsboro, N.C.
Now, Asian food is one of my default choices. When i don't really want anything in particular or when I don't know what I want, I go Asian, because it gives me a chance to remind whomever I am with that I once ate raw squid in Korea and lived to tell about it and gives me the opportunity to practice up on my chopstick use. Today, would be a little different than any time that I have ever spent in an Asian restaurant, however.
Just a few minutes after my wife and I were seated, an elderly (but spry) Asian gentleman and his guest (who appeared to be his son or grandson) came in with that firm air of confidence that immediately made me suspicious that he might be the owner of the place (and his later conversation, in fact, confirmed this). As soon as he walked in, he walked over to the cash register where the Mama-san/hostess/ajuma sat and spat out a series of orders in Korean. So, the owner of the Chinese restaurant is Korean. Wait. This gets better.
The hostess does not understand him. The waitress who is waiting on us is a squat little Asian lady, very pretty for a later-than-middle aged women, and with the round features of a Chinese woman. Seeing what appears to be an impending conflagration, she hurriedly walks up to the elderly gentleman and speaks to him in Korean, then turns around and heads back into the kitchen and yells in English his order. Meanwhile, the restaurant owner stands still in the presence of the hostess and continues to spew forth various questions in excited Korean. She replies, in English, then Spanish, "I no understand/No comprende."
This puzzles the owner, and he speaks to her in English asking, "You Messican?" "Si, yes!" She replies. "Messican." Shaking his head and looking at the floor, the elderly gentleman looks at the floor and walks over and takes a table next to the one my wife and I are sitting at. Before he can comfortably come to a rest, the Chinese waitress comes out of the kitchen and explains to the owner that the hostess at the cash register does not understand either Korean or Chinese, she is "Messican." She understands "Spanische (pronounce the schwa e on the end) and Engrish" (I am NOT making this up). She then asks the owner, "Hot tea?"
Previously, he had specified "tea" in English, but had not specified hot or cold. Now that his ire is up a bit, he refuses to be asked in English. She tries "Hot tea?" a couple more times and then descends (or ascends, depending on one's perspective) into Korean with, "Hong-cha?" He agrees that hot tea, hong-cha, is what he prefers, and she takes the drink order of his guest, in English, of course, "hot tea also, please."
The Chinese waitress goes away into the kitchen. The owner then engages in a ten- to fifteen-minute rant which I can understand only bits and pieces of, but which elicited a response from his guest not unlike what must have been the norm at a Richard Pryor performance in the 1970s. I pick up enough with my extremely dry Korean skills to know that he is completely flummoxed with the idea that he can find only "Messicans" to work in his restaurant, and I clearly hear him say at one point: "They come to live in America, but they speak only Spanish! Why can they not learn to speak English?" Yes, he is going all xenophobic (sic) about Mexicans who can't speak English while speaking KOREAN himself.
At this point, it is almost too much for me. My wife, not understanding Korean, can't figure out why I am trying to figure out whether I need Facebook or Twitter at the moment, and what it is I want to post. Of course, I can't tell her because the owner is sitting at the next table over. I am certainly not going to make fun of him in his presence – in his restaurant – and get thrown out.
So the hostess at the cash register (whom, you will remember, if you are filling out your scorecard correctly, is Mexican) brings two hot teas to the Korean men. The elderly gentleman, in English, says to her, "How long have you worked for me?"
"Almost a year, sir."
"Ah. Very good. I thought you were Korean. I speak to you in Korean because you yellow, like me."
"I understand, sir. Thank you." And she walks away and takes her place at the cash register.
As soon as he sees her sit behind the register, the owner (for your scorecard again, Korean) turns to his guest and begins grousing (in Korean) about why he can only find "Messicans" to work in his business, and how hard would it be for them to learn English since they are here? Of course, the hostess does, in fact speak fluent English, so I presume he may be talking about some of the cooking and cleaning staff. But he is mucho (excuse the Spanish lingo) peeved.
Eventually, the Chinese waitress emerges with two large bowls of soup for the owner and his guest, and after laying them down on the table, is asked by the owner (in English, for your scorecards), "So she Spanische, eh?"
"Messican, sir."
"Ah. Where she live?"
Flummoxed temporarily, and apparently not sure if she is violating HIPAA or something, the Chinese waitress gasps, "Where she live, sir?"
"Yes!" the owner demands, in a very no nonsense manner. "WHERE SHE LIVE?"
Thrusting her thumb over her shoulder in an exaggerated move probably intended to communicate her discomfort with the question, the Chinese waitress states, "Over THERE. In Dudley."
"Dudley, eh?" the owner grunts. "Is that where they are keeping THEM?"
"Uhhhhh, yes sir," the Chinese waitress smiles, bows, and walks away.
The guest of the owner is at this point laughing so hard that his shoulders are rocking
Now, at some point I begin looking around me, and I see that the entire restaurant is filled with… "Messicans." My wife and I are white, the two Koreans are in the booth adjacent to ours, and there is the Chinese waitress. EVERYONE ELSE in the Chinese restaurant (at least for a while) was… "Messicans." And I notice that every time the owner slips into Korean and says the word "Messicans," every head in the restaurant turns to glare at him.
Meanwhile, I happen to take a glance at my wife's plate. She is eating fried okra (Dixie style) and… NACHOS??? WHAT??? YOU COME INTO A CHINESE RESTAURANT AND EAT… Oh, nevermind.
So, for your scorecards again: "Messican" customers at a Chinese restaurant in Goldsboro, North Carolina, where one of two white people is holding down the fort with fried okra and nachos while the Korean owner grouses about why his Mexican wait staff refuses to learn English… in Korean. And yes, there is the one Chinese waitress, but I couldn't fit her into that sentence.
Now, the definition of a "black hole" isL
"… a deformation in space/time due to an extreme concentration of mass, resulting in a cosmic formation from which even light cannot escape."
Well, there was plenty of light, but lemme tell you that the thing that was DENSE in that restaurant today was diversity. There was so much diversity that no reason or logic could escape. While I am trusting that the dear reader is keeping up with the story and is keeping his scorecard clean, I can assure you that my head was spinning trying to fill out my own scorecard while all this was happening.
The Chinese waitress had been checking our table with increasing frequency, I believe to ensure that I was not choking on the food. No, it was not the FOOD I was choking on. Finally, she comes to our table one last time with our fortune cookies. I break mine open and it says
"Comprete un nuevo equipo."
Or, in English – "Buy a new outfit."
But yes, you read that right. MY CHINESE FORTUNE COOKIE IN A CHINESE RESTAURANT WHERE THE OWNER IS GROUSING ABOUT MESSICANS NOT LEARNING ENGLISH IN KOREAN COMES TO ME WITH ITS FORTUNE IN SPANISH.
I spent the rest of the evening looking for Rod Serling or expecting Ashton Kutcher to emerge from the shadows to explain that I had been "Punk'd." Alas, it never happened.
I am not sure I will ever go back. Beyond here, there be dragons. I think I found some sort of a doorway to Multicultural Utopia (or Diversity Hades), and I found it an exceedingly strange and fearful place.
I have to say, though, the salsa was quite good. Better than in most Messican restaurants.
-Jay in NC
