The tiniest incidents I report to you, dear blog reader. Yes you, Adrian. My life has taken a less shake-leg turn the past couple of days, morphing into one led by the Department Store Salegirl. Not that Adrian doesn't already know of course, but this is for the odd other netizen that surfs in out of boredom or pure accident. But I really should get on with my story now, shouldn't I?
I was taking my dinner break today, savouring one of the better ba chor mee I've tasted of late - soft, juicy ba chor, noodles cooked just about right, no pig's liver (oh thank you), actually edible "pig's navel", and the requisite stewed mushroom - the big ones, not the misery looking ones we sometimes get and which you can hardly get the taste out of (only problem was that it was a little on the oily side.). Naturally, I did not want to share my dinner with the odd fly that came by, trying to score a meal out of mine. But, not wanting to put down my utensils to shoo the fly away, or run and risk of inadvertently hitting the bug with the end of my chopstick, I blew at a particularly sluggish bugger. Back it came again, no doubt agreeing that my $4 bowl of noodles was quite appetizing. So, again I blew.
I should've known better.
My aiming has never been good (in school, whenever we had competitions involving some kind of spherical object I've always played defence, never offence). And this turned out not to be an exception, because the dirty little thing which no doubt had been foraging in the rubbish bin somewhere nearby right before he landed on my food well, landed on my food. For two flustered seconds I did not know what to do - pick it out with my icky hands which touched two dozen different similarly germ-infested hands while at work, or use my utensils and contaminate them? I chose the latter. Faster, mah. I left the struggling, oil-drenched body on the table, in front of me, and continued eating while watching it, simultaneously captivated and disgusted. At this point it is needless to say that I was dining alone. For this to be the highlight of my meal, it has to be.
I was taking my dinner break today, savouring one of the better ba chor mee I've tasted of late - soft, juicy ba chor, noodles cooked just about right, no pig's liver (oh thank you), actually edible "pig's navel", and the requisite stewed mushroom - the big ones, not the misery looking ones we sometimes get and which you can hardly get the taste out of (only problem was that it was a little on the oily side.). Naturally, I did not want to share my dinner with the odd fly that came by, trying to score a meal out of mine. But, not wanting to put down my utensils to shoo the fly away, or run and risk of inadvertently hitting the bug with the end of my chopstick, I blew at a particularly sluggish bugger. Back it came again, no doubt agreeing that my $4 bowl of noodles was quite appetizing. So, again I blew.
I should've known better.
My aiming has never been good (in school, whenever we had competitions involving some kind of spherical object I've always played defence, never offence). And this turned out not to be an exception, because the dirty little thing which no doubt had been foraging in the rubbish bin somewhere nearby right before he landed on my food well, landed on my food. For two flustered seconds I did not know what to do - pick it out with my icky hands which touched two dozen different similarly germ-infested hands while at work, or use my utensils and contaminate them? I chose the latter. Faster, mah. I left the struggling, oil-drenched body on the table, in front of me, and continued eating while watching it, simultaneously captivated and disgusted. At this point it is needless to say that I was dining alone. For this to be the highlight of my meal, it has to be.
In any case, the determined little fella managed to get off its back, despite being trapped by the oil, and onto its feet again. It made what seemed to be failed attempts at flight, lifting its rear end up, but not going anywhere. It continued to do that for about a minute or so - yes I chose to watch it instead of that Channel 8 drama that was playing on the telly further down the foodcourt, I have rather weird viewing habits - until finally, it keeled over and died. Kaput. Just like that, it rolled over and its legs went stiff, resuming its position unwittingly taken when I first fished it out of my bowl.
Gee, I didn't plan for such a long description on such a negligible happening, seeing as such that bitching about my protagonist's human counterparts would suit readers' tastes more. But to tell the truth, there weren't that many. All the people I've met so far have been friendly and polite. Sure, there was the aunties who brought their friends/family/lady they met in the loo so that they could redeem more freebies (today this auntie boasted to us that she had 6 already!). Or, that lady who stuck out her hand while at the same time saying, with perhaps a little disdain, "I don't want this." But nothing hard to handle, no angry, displeased customer marching up to our counter with any you-bloody-liar-refund-me-my-money-or-burn-in-hell! fiasco. So yeah, all is well (except for the aches and pain from standing for a good 9 hours straight) and good.
1 comment:
Haha.. u sure do have an odd affinity with insects.
Maybe u should go work with national geographic instead :)
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