Quick response at dodging (London)

When I first started working at the pub, nearly three years ago now, a young, crazy (in a good, fun way) colleague Giacomo used to burst into song loudly at me, opera-fashion, “I LOVE YOU!” whilst doing the floor (delivering/collecting plates and collecting glasses).  

At other times, he’d “attack” me from behind, in the style of Kato of Pink Panther fame, Inspector Clousseau’s sidekick, sometimes throwing in the sound effects as well.  On one such occasion, on my way to the kitchen, I managed to block a mini flying kick from him from behind, which was witnessed by a customer sitting at a high table in the corner.  The customer was impressed, “I saw that!  That was really quick response on your part!”

Nearly three years on, Giacomo has left, but my dodging instincts have not waned with the reduced practice due to his departure.  A few weeks ago, I was walking towards the kitchen when, last minute, I dodged a near-collision with Matt who had come up from behind.  He later commented on how fast my reaction had been.

I told Matt about Giacomo, adding that I don’t seem to have trouble with avoiding anything that moves.  

It’s non-moving ones that I still collide with on a regular basis:  chairs, table corners, outstretched feet, bags left on the floor.  Anything that can be bumped into or tripped over, I will.  My foot will somehow find its way into the loop of a bag sitting innocently on the floor, minding its own business.

It’s Rugby World Cup at the moment, until the end of October, so the pub is filled with rugby fans before they go to Wembley.  

Three Saturdays ago, a chap was sitting on the outside edge of one of the high tables with his four friends, on a high chair, so that his knee was on a level with my stomach.  I managed to walk straight into it.  All five men drew in a sharp breath, and expressed concern.  I laughed it off with, “That was a failed rugby tackle.  I must put in more practice.”

See also blog entry o-chyo-ko-chyo-i.

(London, 2015)

Not seeing the wood for the trees (China)

The Chinese for this is: 見樹不見林 / 见树不见林 jiàn shù bù jiàn lín / “see tree not see wood”

A white British student, Jackie, was walking along the road somewhere in south-west China with Pam, another white British fellow student of hers, when a local farmer came from the opposite direction leading a bovine animal.

The man asked Jackie, in Chinese, if she knew what the animal was.

Jackie answered, in Chinese, “水牛 (shuǐ niú / “water bovine” / water buffalo).”

The man said, in Chinese, “黄牛 (huáng niú / “yellow bovine” / brown cow),” and went away laughing at her ignorance.

What amazes me is that the man had failed to notice that Jackie is not Chinese and is, therefore, not expected to speak Chinese at all.  Yet, he was tickled pink by the fact that she couldn’t tell a water buffalo from a brown cow.

(China, 2007)

You know you’re getting old when… : 03 (London)

...even visibly pregnant women (six months?) refuse your offer of a seat.

...even old men offer you their seat.

(London, 2015)

How to keep in touch with your pet dog (London/Italy)

My Italian student has brought her father over to London after his operation, so that she can keep an eye on him for a few months, because he lives alone in Bari in south Italy.  He does not speak English and has no friends here; his daughter, son-in-law and grandson are out all day at work or school, so he’s bored and has been talking about going home.  

He also misses his dog.  I suggested that he could get his friend, who looks after the dog for him, to use Skype for him to see his dog on the screen and talk to it.

Success!  My student reported last week that the dog recognised him on the screen and got very excited.  

Now we just need to teach the dog to go on Skype itself, so that the friend needn’t be troubled each time.

(London/Italy, 2015)

Update 19 October:  My student said the dog’s now even pawing at the screen to try and touch the master’s face.

You know you're getting old when… : 02 (London)

… people refuse your offer of help with their luggage up/down the stairs.

(London, 2015)

How to dent male chauvinistic behaviour (Singapore)

My father absolutely loved parties.  When he was put in charge of my maternal grandparents’ grocery shop, he used to rope the villagers in for a drink and titbits, all grabbed off the shelves, once the shop was shut for the day.  

Chinese entertainment style is to have cooked dishes served up one at a time, piping hot, fresh from the wok, without any rice*.  So, my father would make the two shop employees stay behind and cook the food, which produced a lot of grumbling in the kitchen.

When he was found to be hopeless at managing the shop, and was relieved of that post, he transferred his partying to his home, with the womenfolk taking the place of the two shop employees.

He’d set up a big round table in the living room, complete with a lazy Susan.  The women (my mother, paternal aunt, maternal aunt, us four daughters, the two servant girls) would be slaving away in the kitchen.  

Once the men had had time to settle down and take their first sip of alcohol, we’d serve up the first dish.  We’d then retire to the kitchen and quickly eat whatever had been put aside for us, keeping an eye in the meantime on how far the men had got with the first dish, to be ready to cook and serve the second dish.  Sometimes, instead of putting aside some food for ourselves before serving up the dish, we’d eat whatever of the previous dish the men might’ve failed to polish off, which would mean us eating only after they’d had their fill of the dish.

This would go on, dish after dish, with us snatching fleeting feeding moments behind the scenes.  It might be a party at home, but the number of dishes would easily run up to eight, if not the standard ten for a banquet.  Serving five dishes over the span of an evening’s entertaining just didn’t seem hospitable enough.

One day, my second older sister (of three), the rebellious one, who was in her late teens at the time, refused to take any more of this treatment.  “We’re the ones doing all the work.  Why should we eat behind the scenes and between courses, sometimes even only the leftovers, like servants?”  

She went to the living room, pulled up a chair and sat down at the table.  The men’s eyebrows went up.  Annoyed, my father asked: “What are you doing here?!?”

“Well, I have worked very hard, helping to cook all this food, so I think I have earned the right to sit down at the table and eat it comfortably.”

Shamed by this, the men’s memory was suddenly jolted:  “Oh, where’s your wife?  She should be sitting down, eating with us too.”

My father never held another men-only party after that.

(Singapore, 1960s)

*Rice is the cheap and filling ingredient, which the host would not serve for fear of being thought miserly.  At a proper banquet, the rice dish (a fried rice) is usually Course No.8 of 10 courses, in case the guests are still hungry after all the meat and seafood.

The hidden message in Chinese food 06: consuming vinegar (Taiwan)

Another Conoco Taiwan local staff lunch outing was to a dumpling restaurant.  I was absolutely amazed at how many dumplings my colleagues could each eat.  Even the women could eat something like 25 of them at one sitting.

The simplest dip for dumplings is soya sauce and vinegar (醋 cù).  One can also add one or all of the following: chilli oil, sesame oil, garlic paste, ginger, chopped spring onion, coriander.  Anything that one fancies really, I guess.

My youngest colleague, Mary Fu 傅曼麗, then only 21 (three weeks younger than I), had her saucer filled with something like one part soya sauce and four parts vinegar.  

Accountant Cray Chang 張城隆, as usual, immediately remarked, “哇，你很会吃醋！wa, nǐ hěn huì chī cù / Wow, you very much know how to eat vinegar.”  

This was an obvious pun, because 吃醋 chī cù / “eat vinegar” in Chinese means “to get jealous”, so Cray was saying to Mary, “You get jealous easily (You’re very good at eating vinegar).”

Mary’s instant response was, 我只会吃湿醋，不会吃干醋 / wǒ zhǐ huì chī shī cù, bù huì chī gān cù / “I only know how to eat wet vinegar, not dry vinegar”.

(Taiwan, 1975)