Shock The Monkey: A Simple Tale
I had just dropped off a package at the overnight courier. An envelope overnighted to Boston. Having been on the road so much this month, there are many inconveniences to flick off throughout the day. And spending twenty dollars to send documents that I could easily hand deliver four days from now was one of those necessities. I searched my GPS for local restaurants and felt the disappointment when I realized that there were only two places nearby. Friendly’s and Asian Delight.
I had not been to Friendlys in a while and felt nostalgic. The travel had been tough lately and why not eat a hamburger and have an ice cream. It was a good enough place when we won our little league games, it’s good enough now. The problem is that the Friendly’s I went into smelled. It smelled like an alley dumpster filled with jack cheese and butt. I also thought they were a bit disingenuous in their self description. The sign posted on the glass door when I walked in advertised a job opportunity as a server in a “Friendly” environment for a chipper “friendly young person.” The girl pictured on the poster was a young perky blonde of about twenty holding a tray and smiling like a gymnast in front of an american flag. Hardly the same image as the real life waiter and host who walked out to seat me. I imagine his name was Walt and he was on the downside of his forties and his luck. A pudgy guy with a 9:00 shadow who was not in the greatest mood. He seemed sad. Perhaps the meeting with his parole officer had not gone as planned? Who knows. “Just you eatin’ “ he asked. “Uhm yeah…But…” I had to get out of there. But I couldn’t think of an excuse. And honestly, I’ve kind of had it with apologizing and subtlety in my life. I threw off all care. “Yeah, Uhm Walt…I’m going to eat somewhere else because this place smells. It smells bad.” Walt replied “I don’t blame you dude.” I slid back to my car and poked up Asian Delight on my GPS.
Asian Delight advertises a mix of Japanese AND Chinese cuisine. I thought this was marvelous and should surely be awarded some kind of prize. If not a high Zagat rating perhaps a nobel peace prize. Every Chinese person I knew hated the Japanese. Every Japanese person I knew felt disdain for the Chinese. But why argue over the NanChing massacre in World War Two. That was more than fifty years ago. Lets eat some sushi and lo mein baby. When I pushed open the door of Asian Delight I was greeted by a man of about 50. Sure enough…He was Asian alright. And, unlike Walt, he was “friendly.”
He wore a pale blue striped golf shirt. He was clean shaved and had a distinguished look like he was the owner. He sat me toward the back, just like I wanted. The chair was stiff and too close to the table. The man called me sir. He kept his arm behind his back. Like a soldier or even a caricature of Napoleon. I could not tell if he was attempting to look polite and compensate for his casual golf shirt or his back was sore. I thought of this other Asian guy I knew named Tam who worked at the cleaners I used to frequent once a week. He always held his back. He worked hard. Tam was a brilliant engineer from Vietnam who was imprisoned during the war in his homeland. His father and brother died in that prison. He made it out and came to America and had been doing odd jobs ever since. Street cleaning. Waiter. Store Clerk. Construction. And now the endurer of polite smiles from Boston’s nouveau rich who occasionally used the phrase “Ancient Chinese Secret” when picking up their stiff square-folded Oxfords. Tam was sweet but looked tired. He was beaten but not beat and he still smiled wide. I was now convinced that this guy was indeed holding his back in pain like Tam. What was his story? It all made sense to my electrons of thought that orbited, I feared visibly, around my head. Thats the trouble with being on the road sometimes. You think too much because thats all there is to do. Alone. Thinking. Staring. Surveying. Some don’t I suppose. Some of the suits I see as I travel seem to ignore it all. They Walk fast. Talk quick. Breathe loud. And they never get stagefright at the urinal. And they could even endure a smelly Friendly’s. Its all food after all. People and Information and your Daily Tasks are food. And the majority of people I meet on the road are “obese” and don’t mind it a bit. You can either be a grey gutter rat eating it all up or you can stop. You can take it slow and analyze it all or you can pig out. Be ignorant and comfortable or think too much and feel awkward. I looked down at the paper place setting under my plate and saw the chinese zodiac years represented by all the animals. Find your year. Match it to the animal. Discover your personality. My birth year was neither a pig or a rat. Seems I’m a monkey. But before I could read my personality the waiter darted to my side. He wore black khakis and white button down. Whisps of hair jetting up in front and along top like a rooster punk rocker.
“Hello Sir. Water?”
Yes.
“Tea?”
Yes.
“Are you ready to eat?”
No. Gimme a minute please.
“Thank you sir.” Thank you.
As I looked at the menu I listened in to the particles of conversations swirling in the room. I was slapped in the face by the voice of the guy ordering take out at the front of the joint. He, like many in white suburbia, felt the need to talk louder so the Asians could understand him. He also was a sucker for the timeless technique used by chinese restaurant people to get the customers to order more food. I’m talking about the use of the phrase “Yeahhh and what else.”
I’d like the boneless spare ribs.
“Yeahhh and what else.”
And some shrimp.
“Yeahhh and what else.”
And an order of Lo mein
“Yeahhh and what else.”
And some General Tso’s chicken
“Yeahhh and what else.”
I was also laughing to myself at the sarcasm of my waiter. He was right out of central casting of a Chinese restaurant. The accent. The glasses. You name it. But I was insanely jealous of his quick wit and barely detectable sarcasm which he used to tolerate this daily stereotyping he endured from soccer moms.
“Is the sweet and sour chicken more sweet or sour”
Sweet. (Translation: You idiot!)
“Is the tea decaf”
No but I will have the chef make it 90 percent water and 10 percent tea (You dumb ass!)
He came back to take my order and I took care to not sound like the mega-mouthed take out guy or the mom-of-a-thousand questions.
I would like an egg roll and the spicy chicken and broccoli.
“Thank you sir”
I looked back down at my place setting and thought of Tam. He was surely at home back in Boston. Holding his back after working all day folding clothes. I have not seen him in a while since I’ve been on the road. I been doing my own laundry at hotels and the homes of my friends. Its this task which demoralizes me most on the road. Nothing makes you feel like a transient rolling stone more than piles of dirty clothes piled on top of empty coffee cups in the back-seat of the car. It never bothered me that much until this year. Staring at the spin cycle of the glass-doored washing machine at the Laundromat. Man, I used to love being on the road. Getting away and seeing the country and performing the show and connecting with an audience. But now the miles are piling up and the tasks grow more and more. The phone calls. The paperwork. The courier drop offs. Being away from my daughter. Being away from my dog. Sitting down at a table in my house with someone I love. Those moments of being unguarded and completely open and silent. Those moments when the electrons rotate slower and the monkey mind sits quiet and desirous of nothing. The rats don’t bother me at home. The roosters never wake me up. There is no zoo. There is no cage. There is no wheel.
“You want the egg roll first or all at once” the rooster waiter cawed.
All at once (dumb ass). Bring me everything. The egg roll. The chicken. Everything. Come to think of it bring it all my man. Bring me my refill of tea before I’m finished. Bring the fortune cookie and pineapple and the check. Bring it all. All at once. Tonight I want to be a rat. Tonight I want to be a rooster. Tonight I want to be a dog. Gimme that fortune cookie. Crack it open because I can’t wait any longer. This chair is getting uncomfortable. My back hurts. And tonight my fortune reads:
“A handful of patience is worth far more than a bushel of brains”
“My lucky numbers are 7-11-13-16-25-33.”
“The Monkey: inventor, motivator, improviser, quick-witted, inquisitive, flexible, innovative, problem solver, self-assured, sociable, polite, dignified, competitive, objective, factual, intellectual. Can be egotistical, vain, selfish, cunning, jealous, suspicious.”
