This story reminded me of a similar experience. In Australia, fish and chips shops are very similar to the British variety: typically small, independent fast food shops that serve deep-fried battered fish and potato chips (fat fries), amongst other things, cooked to order. Though they are independent, they typically have similar menus with similar prices, so you know what to order even if you have never been to that shop before.

I’m visiting my newish boyfriend, who moved from interstate a short while before we started dating. He and his friends haven’t had dinner, so he and a mate are heading out to get fish and chips for everyone. I’ve eaten, but I love me a deep-fried scallop (shellfish), so I ask for two of them.

They return with a single butcher paper parcel containing all the food the group ordered. It’s tightly wrapped to keep everything warm, and they open it in the middle of the table. I am scanning the spread to find my delicious morsels. Everything is deep-fried, and most of it is battered, so I have to go by size and shape. There are several fillets of fish, a lot of chips, a handful of dim sims (do not ask!) and some “potato cakes”, which are thin slices of potato, battered and deep-fried. I am not a fan. Nothing looks like a scallop.

Me: “Where are my scallops?”

[Boyfriend] points to the potato cakes.

Me: “Um, I wanted scallops, not potato cakes.”

Boyfriend: “Oh! In Queensland, we call them ‘potato scallops’ or just ‘scallops’. Sorry.”

So, I think, “Isn’t language interesting? Every day, I learn something new.” Well, it’s time to put that learning to use.

Me: “Ah! So, in Queensland, what do you ask for if you want the shellfish?”

Boyfriend:  “Scallops.”

I learnt to be very specific with food orders with him. I also refused to call peanut butter “peanut paste”. We must have standards.

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Chipping Away At The Confusion

I work in a second-hand store where we set our own prices based on what we think the item is worth, which of course leads to customers trying to negotiate a lower price on some stuff. Sometimes they have a point, and sometimes they’re just stupid, like in this case.

Customer: “Hey, you’ve got $20 on that violin there, but you’re missing the bow. Can you do it a bit better?”

Me: “First of all, if we have a violin missing the bow, that’s considered when we decide the price. Second of all, that’s a ukulele.” 

Customer: “…will you do the violin for $15?”

The comments under this story reminded me of an incident from long ago.

I was studying computer science, and part of the final year coursework was a huge software development group project. Four of us were Australian-born. The fifth, Amr, was from the Middle East. His father was a diplomat. They came to Australia when Amr was twelve, and when the next posting came, it was decided that Amr should finish his education in Australia.

So, by the time I met Amr, he had spent ten years in Australia, most of it without his parents. He was an Aussie bloke in most aspects. I knew he was Muslim, but I also knew he was not a strict adherent. For example, he drank more (much more) than the rest of us. What I didn’t know, which is important for this story, was about Halal and Haram. 

We’d typically spend our Saturdays at one of our homes, a big sharehouse near the university with a kitchen and plenty of living rooms. We’d take turns bringing food, and this particular Saturday, I bought two family-sized meat pies and some salad. I stopped working a little before lunchtime to prepare the food. I put the hot pies and cold salad out, and people grabbed plates and took what they wanted.

I was in the kitchen when Amr came back for seconds.

Amr: “This pie is amazing. What is it?”

Me: “Beef and bacon.”

Yeah, I shudder to write that now!

Amr: “OH, NO! Muslims aren’t allowed to eat pork!”

I saw the look on his face, and I started apologising. I knew about Kosher, so I thought I understood what that meant to him. I could not have been more wrong!

Amr: “YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TOLD ME! Now I can’t have a second slice!”

In case you are curious, Amr finished his degree and was not allowed to stay in the country as his student visa expired. He could not go back to his home country because they have compulsory service and he would be an Aussie boy in a Middle Eastern army. So, he moved to New Zealand, who was happy to have him. His plan was to move back to Australia after he got New Zealand citizenship, but I believe by then he was very happy with his new home. I hope he has discovered turkey bacon!

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We’re Pretty Sure That’s Illegal, Dude!

Back in the 1990s, my then-partner and I had a favourite Chinese restaurant. We had a Friday tradition where we would watch a Hong Kong action movie at the Chinatown cinema (often the only white people there) and then head to Chinatown to eat.

One night, we tried a Peking duck restaurant. The food was good, and so was the experience of service, a chef delicately carving the duck with a cleaver at the table. And because we had put the cinema program on the table, we chatted with a waiter about our favourite movies and about John Woo and Chow Yun Fat. We became regulars, and the staff genuinely lit up when we entered. 

So, two stories arise.

We would just walk in on Fridays, and there was always a table free. One Saturday, we were in town with another couple, and when we realised it was time for dinner, I decided to impress them with excellent Peking duck. We walked up to the maître d’s desk, and he greeted us warmly.

Maître D’: “Do you have a reservation?”

Us: “No.”

He got a distressed look on his face. But he escorted us upstairs, through the restaurant (which had clearly been a dance hall previously), and to the far corner where there was a raised platform with one table with a reserved sign. He removed the sign with a sweeping gesture and sat us at the table.

It felt like such a flex, arriving at a fully booked restaurant without a booking and immediately getting the best table. In my memory, it was like that tracking shot from “Goodfellas”. Our friends were so impressed. And it turned out that they didn’t like duck, so the entrance was the highlight of their evening!

The other time was a normal Friday, but when we entered, they treated us very coldly. It was baffling. They recognised us, but they didn’t seem to want us there. The waiter came to our table, took my order, and then turned to my boyfriend. When he started to speak, the waiter took a closer look at him and jumped back.

Waiter: “Oh, it’s you!”

And he started laughing. My boyfriend had bleached his dark brown hair snowy white, and the staff didn’t recognise him, only me, and they thought I was cheating on him! I loved how they looked out for him. After that, normal service was resumed.

I looked up the restaurant, and more than thirty years after this story, it closed earlier this year. Sadly, the reviews were rather poor, so I don’t think it was the same as when we patronised it.

While at work one day at my pharmacy job, the manager (who bullies me) catches me while I am on the way out the back for something.

Manager: “Miss [My Name], a customer just returned this. Care to explain? She was not happy.”

My manager shows me a box of a popular brand of throat lollies. She opens the box to show that a few of the lollies are missing. I’m confused.

Manager: “When she opened it, these were already missing! If you were taking better care of your area, this wouldn’t have happened! Obviously, someone helped themselves to it while they were here and put it back on the shelf”

Me: “I, uh…”

I started freaking out; [Manager] is always bullying me and looking for any way to get rid of me.

The pharmacist quickly stepped in and defended me. How could this be my fault? For all we knew, this could have happened at the manufacturer, or it could have happened when I was doing other things around the pharmacy or not on shift. Or the customer could have been telling lies. You would think that if they were seen taking these out of the box, someone WOULD have approached them.

[Manager] still blamed me.

Thankfully, she left a few months later after she tried to get me fired and my boss refused as there was no reason to other than [Manager] not liking me.