a dinner break at 730pm

As the food at work was just too seafoody for me, I ventured out into the night to get something from near by. I was walking to the local ‘Orange’ place (a restaurant we don’t know the name of, but the sign is orange) when a middle aged man stopped me in my tracks.

‘You come with me!’ he said sternly, grabbing my arm.

‘No,’ I said, wriggling out of his grip.

‘You come with ME!’ he repeated, grabbing my arm tightly again.

‘I’m busy,’ I said, shaking him loose again. ‘Goodnight.’

‘You…,’ he said angrily, taking a handful of my shirt tightly. His eyes were bulging and his free hand pointed towards my nose. His grip was like an iron vice and he looked like a volcano building to erupt.

‘No, I’m going for dinner,’ I said to him, unable to get his hands off me. ‘You go away.’

‘You come with me!’ he said over and over, to which I shook my head and searched for an easy way to get him to let go. Finally he willingly set me free.

As I stepped backwards away from him, a little old lady, maybe 90 years old who works as a street vendor, stepped in. She said something in Korean and he stood fast, not moving. I turned and walked into the Orange place. He didn’t follow and had disappeared when I walked out.

I don’t think I like the unexpected. Before I order a meal, there’s something inherent in me that wants to recognise something that will be on the plate. It’s like I can handle a surprise if it’s wrapped up in something I know I like.

Movies are the same: I enjoy an original movie, but I’m forever watching for what I know in them. Maybe it’s comforting or just unchallenging. Like Mcdonalds food (apologies to those who are challenged repeatedly by the presence of Mcdonalds).

So why am I in Asia eating dohsat bibimbop in a restaurant I can’t name being protected by 90 year old female street vendors? Raging against my own machine or do I just not really know my machine at all? I suspect it's a fair amount of both.