The Number 6 and a Side of Crab Ran-goon

Lauren C. LePoidevin

The Number 6 and a Side of Crab Ran-goon

          Chinese food is a rare craving for me. I can never seem to get the thought out of my head that I might be eating a cat. The thought of a poor kitty falling victim to the dreaded Chinese restaurant owner makes me cringe and slightly depressed. I know it wont happen, at least in Wisconsin, but the urban legend still lingers in my mind. I always get the same thing – crab ran-goon, sweet and sour chicken, and white rice. I tried an egg roll once and I thought I had eaten decayed vegetables and grease. Gross. After that I decided not to stray away from my usual order, they are the only items on a Chinese menu that wont make me hurl.

          I walked through the front door of the empty restaurant. It had the usual decorations; a giant photo of the Great Wall in a golden dragon frame and bamboo center pieces at each cheap food court table. I was greeted at the front counter by a nice Asian man and what I assumed was his wife. They were speaking to each other when I came in, but I haven’t the slightest idea what they were saying as they both looked at me. I always feel judged when people are looking at me and speaking another language. I never know if I should be offended or just go with it. So I went with it. He said something to me, I assumed it was hello and I responded by saying hello back.

          He said, “No, how tall are you?”

 
          “6 feet even.”

          “Wow! You must be basketball player.”
  
          I hate when people assume I play basketball because I am a woman and unusually tall. I tried not to make it obvious that I was offended and let out a fake chuckle so the situation didn't become awkward.

          I said, “No, I actually play golf and tennis.”

          People tend to react disappointed that their assumption is completely wrong and unimpressed with the sports I actually participate in. I don't think people who ask me if I play basketball realize that height is also an advantage in these sports. I actually hate basketball. Its about as interesting as a sewing contest. Before the Asian man could respond I blurted out my order.

          “Can I have a number 6 with white rice, crab ran-goon, and extra sweet and sour sauce?”

          “Okay, number 6, white, crab ran-goon, extra sauce. It will be done in 15 minutes. You sit and I bring to you.”

          “That's okay, I'll wait outside.”

           I don't like to wait inside where there are no other customers, it's weird. I paid him, walked outside and lit a cigarette. As I stood there smoking, I thought about cats again and watched a squirrel try to cross the two lane road. He succeeded after about 7 tries. My squirrel observation became interrupted when this guy walked out of the barber shop next door. His pants needed a belt, his hair needed less product, and his cologne needed to be seriously toned down. He lit a cigarette and had his phone glued to his ear. He was about 10 feet away, far enough to not have to say hello and close enough to hear him talking to a friend that I assume was a carbon copy of him.

           He said, “Hey man, what's good? That girl won't stop texting me, how do I get rid of her?”

          He was quiet for a moment and he sat down on a bench.
  
          “She's only good for one thing,” he said. “ And she cooks me dinner like every night. She's so desperate for a boyfriend, its pathetic.”

          I rolled my eyes and pretended I couldn't hear his stupid conversation.

          He then said, “If that girl didn't give it up every night, I would kick her ass to the curb. She's boring and needs to lose 10 lbs. She thinks we are dating just because we hang out and have sex. I never let her spend the night, when is she gonna get the hint?”

          I couldn't believe my ears. Everything this guy was saying just kept getting dumber and dumber. Not to mention more disrespectful as the minutes passed. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him staring at me. Ugh! What a creep. I kept praying he wouldn’t try to talk to me. I am not as blind or nice as the girl he apparently “courting”.

          “Hey, let me call you back. There's a chick out here, I'm gonna go say whassup.”

           Jesus Christ! I thought, my lucky day. He walked over to me and made a sad effort to strike up a conversation.

          “Pickin' up some dinner?”

          “How did ya guess?”

          “What's your name?, he asked.

          “Tabitha.”

          I never give my real name to people I don't feel are worthy to know it. Tabitha was the first thing I could think of. All the thoughts of cat meat in my Chinese food made me think of tabby cats.

          He said, “Oh that's a real pretty name. You go to school around here?”

          “Nope.”

          “Oh, well can I get your number and we can get something to eat sometime?”

          “Um – not gonna happen.”

          Just then the little Asian man brought my food outside in a white plastic bag with a smiley face on it. I never thought I would be so happy to see him again.

          I said, “Thank you so much.” With a cheery smile and tone.

         “Your welcome, come again.”

          I put my cigarette out and started walking to my car. The tool was following me. I turned around and looked at him.

          I said, “ Are you serious, take a hint buddy.” I got into my car and drove away while he stood dumbfounded on the sidewalk.