And now, my side of the conversation I just had when I called the new Chinese restaurant that opened a few blocks away:
Me: Hi! I’d like to get an order for delivery, please.
Me: Okay, my address is <my address — let’s call it ‘123 Fake Street’>.
Me: No, no — not Cake Street. Fake, with an ‘F’. It’s okay; no problem.
Me: Oh, right — my phone number is <let’s say, 555-867-5309 here, but I gave him the real one>.
Me: Okay, so I’d like to have — what? Oh. Um, the cross street is Cypress Street. Right, Cypress.
Me: Um, I don’t know — about six foot three or so. I don’t know what that has to do with — uh. well, I’m thirty-four. Does that matter?
Me: Okay, great. So, I’d like to order the — wait, what? Oh, about five and a half inches, I guess, but — just hold on, now! That’s over the line, man. I’m just trying to order dinner here; what the hell does the amount of rainfall we’ve had on the lawn have to do with anything?
(And what did you think I was talking about, there, bub? That’s naaaasty. Perv.)
Me: All right, fine. So, I’d like a large wonton soup, and a — no, no, I said ‘wonton’, not… wait, do you even have ‘bonbon soup’? Really? Wow. Is it any good? No. No, I wouldn’t think so. Let’s just go with a large egg drop soup, instead, to avoid any confusion.
Me: Okay, then I need a house fried rice, a small steamed rice, and the happy family.
Me: Um, nooooo. Not the ‘happy ending’, just the happy family, thanks. Hold on — do you even have a happy end– no, never mind. My wife will be home soon. That would take way too much explaining.
Me: Okay, great. See you in twenty minutes. Can I get a total?
Me: What?! Ninety-three fifty? What the hell? No — no, I said no ‘happy ending’. Yes, I’m sure. Really. No, I’m sure your sister is very attractive — a Lucy Liu attitude with Tia Carrera curves, you say? Ah, but a Jackie Chan face — I see. Yeah, I think I’ll pass; what’s the total without that? Okay, seventeen bucks. Fine. See you in a few. *click*
So, that was an adventure. I hate calling new restaurants. Or any restaurants. Basically, I just hate talking to people. I should probably just get it over with and move in under a bridge somewhere.
On the plus side, though, the food got here a little while ago, and it’s pretty damned tasty. The soup was a bit of a surprise, though — often, places will offer a ‘small’ that’s about the equivalent of a cup o’ soup, and a ‘large’ that’s approximately bowl-sized. Well, I don’t know what these guys do for a ‘small’, but the ‘large’ I ordered is not bowl-sized. It’s closer to Lake Ontario-sized. I’ll be sucking down soup for a month. I just hope the guy on the phone didn’t get pissed off, and leave me his own ‘happy ending’ of sorts in the tub. As far as I can tell, eggs were the only thing dropped into it… but who knows, really? Maybe I should’ve gone with the hot ‘n’ sour. Yow.Permalink | 1 Comment