I’m staring at the challenge at the bottom of the menu. It is carefully printed in gold, boldfaced, and italicized. It’s staring at me. I blink. It just stares back.
My blind date for the evening, who is now desperately trying to contact me, shakes my arm roughly.
“Roger? Roger? Where are you? You need to order.
Huh? Whah? Oh…errr…uhhh.
“What are you getting?”
Getting?
My eyes shift around the table and quickly back to the menu. I think I know where I am now. I’m in Fong’s Garden sitting around a large round table. Six complete strangers, myself included. I just don’t know how I got here - or how I will get out.
“I haven’t decided, yet.”
“You need to decide. This place is…uh…packed, and the waiter is…uh…waiting for you…to decide!”
I know instinctively I shouldn’t, but I demur. “Give me a sec.”
I glance at the rest of the menu and realize there are six framed dinner options with multiple choices in each. None of the options contain eggrolls. I can’t be expected to order all of these just to get eggrolls, so maybe the bonus printed on the bottom is related to something else.
That makes sense to me for a moment, then my imagined answer opens up a flurry of new questions. My head is spinning. I ask the waiter:
“What do I need to order six of to get eggrolls? Drinks? Return trips to the appetizer buffet?”
As I say this, I feel my five dinner partners and the waiter together exude a withering sigh as if the balloon they were all trying to keep inflated has suddenly sprung a major leak. Everyone looks in a different direction, none of them at me.
“Roger!” my date, Sherrie (I think that’s her name) exclaims.
Now I am being silently bludgeoned by six pairs of eyes. It feels like the entire restaurant is accosting me. I am powerless in their visual grip.
Sherrie gives me her best “Please, God, let this be a bad dream” look and melts into her chair. This is why I hate blind dates. Too much pressure to perform.
The waiter makes quizzical contact with me.
“Eggrolls?”
“Are the eggrolls Vegan?” I offer meekly in my ever-more-confused condition.
“You can have either,” intones the waiter in a rigidly poised but annoyed manner.
My mind races. If I get six of whatever, will everyone get an eggroll? I feel like I’m hitting my stride now, focus-wise, and blurt out:
“I’ll have six, with Vegan eggrolls.”
Sherrie looks at me as though I’ve just insulted her mother, and as suddenly, I’m paralyzed in the moment and don’t know why I’m staring at the bottom of the menu again after the incoherent words I’ve just formed dribble from my chin.
Sherrie chirps in “Great! I’ll order #3 and we can share.”
I don’t know what I just ordered. I only know I don’t like eggrolls. That is the only thing I am sure of in the moment. She can have them all if she wants. As suddenly, my arm is being pulled again.
“Are you feeling O.K.? You seem a bit lost.”
“Chinese restaurants confuse me,” I quip. Then “have you ever been to Taipei?” escapes my mouth and instantly I feel my face change to an embarrassing shade of red.
Sherrie, who is Asian, transmits the most painful look I have seen this evening, and that tells me I am in deep trouble. Uh-oh. Say something cute. Recover. There’s still time.
“I’m taking a survey of how many Asian women have ever been to Taipei. If you say no, my next question will be ‘Do you know where Taipei is?’ ” Sherrie looks left and then right, frantically searching for an exit. This is not going well. I need a major distraction. I grab the table cloth edge and lurch to the right pretending to fall out of my chair. Everything goes flying.
By the time we have order restored, the waiter returns and sets down a plate at my left elbow containing six eggrolls. My troubles just keep coming. No one else has ordered an appetizer it seems, and there are six people at the table. Everyone is staring at me again.
Thinking quickly, I place the plate on the lazy Susan in the middle of the table and give it a gentle nudge. “Who wants an eggroll? Please, I can’t eat all these. Help me out.”
I watch in slow motion horror as the turntable spins back to me with six eggrolls exactly where they began their ignominious journey.
This is surely the blind date from hell, and now I’m searching for the exit. How am I going to play this? Temporary amnesia? Early dementia? Claim my beloved cat died last week and I’m just not myself? No, I remember talking about my cat while we waited to be seated, she was alive and healthy a few minutes ago.
Suddenly, the silence is broken with my name.
“Roger? Don’t you just love this place? I come here as often as I can. It just seems so authentic.”
Small talk to the rescue for her. I’m no good at small talk. Don’t make me do this. Ask me something obvious, like “why do you seem like such a complete idiot to me?” or change the subject to anything but your favorite Chinese restaurants. Throw me a lifeline. I’m dying here.
Everything seems to go black, then as suddenly the table is alive with animated conversation. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, but the whole restaurant is filled with laughing, smiling people having the time of their life. On my left, Sherrie (I think is her name), is staring intently into the eyes of the total stranger on her left, hanging on his every word. As near as I can make out, they are discussing his fantastic job. He is very charming. He is also witty and erudite. If there had been a battle this evening, he would be declared victor.
As for me, I’ve got eggroll on my face, again.
Author: Al Tietjen
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