The Regulars [Writing]

Dragon Lady

Sundays I spend at the restaurant poolside. Sometimes I swim. Most days I sit there with my books and wait for my laundry to finish - I use the communal laundry machines with the built-in Eww Factor because I don't have my own washer/dryer yet. First world middle-class problems, knamean?

The restaurant owner lady is a certified Grumpy Cat. I try my best to be friendly. I walk in and I'm all "Good morning, how are you today?" and she replies by looking at me over her reading glasses and waiting in silence. 

"I'd like a coffee, please," I says.

"Coffee?" she half-yells.

"Yes."

And she walks away wordlessly. 

What did I ever do to her to deserve this? Oh, you know, maybe I ruined her life, maybe I stole her husband, maybe I threaten her with my frizzy hair, maybe my friends and I are too loud when we break out in song so randomly and so loudly at high noon and it gives her a raging headache, I dunno, maybe she hates me because she knows I know she knows I hate the coffee at her restaurant. 

She's in her mid to late 40s, her mouth constantly pursed, her wrinkly, skinny hands clean. She speaks in short bursts, squeaky but firm, her Chinese accent harsh. She works hard. She's there everyday, all day, she is speedy and efficient, and you know she's been in the business for many years. She won't take your bullshit, and she won't dish out any. 

It always rains when I'm poolside on Sundays.

Young Man

There's a convenience store across the street from my building. The man at the counter is in his late 20s or early 30s, a thin man with a nose just as thin, dark mop of hair. He speaks Tamil and Malay, always, on the landline by the till, in animation. On the phone, I sometimes hear him laugh in that way we laugh when we're talking to someone we like, that almost-unreal laugh that tinkles and hangs in the air around our face. He clutches the phone to his chest when he rings the stuff I'm buying, a little distracted, a little smile on his face as he punches the numbers. 

My first week here, I reached for the Juicy Fruit gum without looking, placing it on the counter and asking him for a pack of cigarettes. He looks at me for a moment, looks at the gum, looks back at me. 

My face says, "what." And I look and see I had grabbed a pack of condoms. 

"No, no," I say, laughing a little. "I meant this." I replace the pack with the real gum. 

His face says, "suuure." 

And he rings the items. And then goes back to his phone call.

I love Love. Love is kind.

So many times throughout my day, as things happen to me and around me, I imagine how I would tell this story. It's always funny, my brain registers funny things. The people I see regularly, in the background of my daily life, the Dragon Lady, the Young Man, the Security Guard, the Couple Next Door with Their Little Daughter, these people are characters.

How do you tell the story of your life? How do you make it interesting enough and stick to the truth?

I always make this mistake, I always order the wrong thing.