Rats!
In the mood of celebrating nothing much at all, I treated myself to sushi at N_____. In the transitional hours between lunch and dinner, most of tables lacked any customers. In all their were three more people on the wait staff than customers. Despite the large swaths of empty sections, the waitress sat me next to two Asian women speaking loudly in halting, heavily accented English.
I could make out every word. “I talk to my husband all the time, but he just-just listens. But you need to train them, they are set in their ways after so long living alone.” There was no place for me in that conversation. There's a psychological theory that people communicate as much through gestures-a constant subconscious dance-than speech. Oftentimes in public situations, you're unfortunately attuned to the people around you, they move and you reflexively react. But while I could make out every word and response between the two women, I found it very easy to focus completely on a book of Gary Younge reportage with a high degree of clarity. Likewise they paid me no heed what so ever. Although we sat a foot apart, an invisible concrete wall filled the void.
My waitress was a young Asian girl with a broad face. She blinked a bit as a response, and spent a few moments sporting a blank expression before writing down my order.
My food came early enough. In the midst of the recession, you hear wives tales and six o'clock news reports that claim that restaurants, unfortunately vulnerable to the current hardships, make every cost saving cut available. In N______ I inspected my dinner thoroughly. The rice balls supporting the sushi seemed smaller than ever and the slices of fish drooped onto the plate. While a raising a piece of tuna, my chopsticks form failed me, and the rice ball popped out, hitting my leg and rolling out onto the floor.
As I ate, attuned to this as I am now, I saw a small brown mouse dart across the floor. I coughed, my gums full of rice and raw tuna.
It stands to reason that in any major city, any floor on the ground level or lower will have rodents. Cleanliness be damned. They're too smart, and too numerous. If you have any connections to the dining circuit in friends or acquaintances, you may have heard stories of rodent infestations.
My roommate had a mouse story or two to go along with every notch in her resume. But that was second hand. I never saw a rodent at a restaurant.
The mouse reappeared. It had a nubby tail, a sign it may have been starving at one point and used that appendage for nourishment, and a stout body. It moved slowly and deliberately, closer and closer to me. None of the customers noticed. It trotted under the table of the two Asian women, one of whom answered a phone call, and began to speak, loudly, in her native tongue.
I imagined them feeling it at their ankles and screaming, refusing to pay their bill. The other remaining customers, a couple solid necked college students, would follow suit. They looked like the New England Ivy League type, they may write the whole thing off to their being in Baltimore.
All the time I was fixated on the ball of rice I'd dropped on the floor. If the mouse should find it, what should I do? I redoubled my efforts to finish the meal. As is nature, I imagined if the stray mouse was an indication of an infestation. My chewing slowed.
I imagined the mouse around my feet now. I've seen the things within striking distance before, and I always choked under the pressure. They're walking pouches of blood and bone. I try not kill centipedes because of the mess their little bodies make, so with mammals my reluctance doubles. Maybe I'm just a coward.
I thought of making a scene, flipping over tables and refusing the check. I shouldn't be having expensive meals anyway.
It didn't matter, the mouse vanished. For whatever reason I was the only person who could see it.
The phone conversation ended next to me. “Was that your husband?”
“Yes. He's at home now.”
I retrieved the rice ball off the floor with my sole napkin and placed it on my plate. No one noticed.
The check came quickly.
On the way out, the mouse appeared again a foot away from me under a tray of dishes. It paused, not terribly concerned by me. Perhaps it thought itself hidden. The wait staff were entirely engaged in a conversation. The two pairs of customers were similarly preoccupied. The mouse looked at my shin and gingerly retreated from view. I left, doing my level best to feel queasy from the meal.
I could make out every word. “I talk to my husband all the time, but he just-just listens. But you need to train them, they are set in their ways after so long living alone.” There was no place for me in that conversation. There's a psychological theory that people communicate as much through gestures-a constant subconscious dance-than speech. Oftentimes in public situations, you're unfortunately attuned to the people around you, they move and you reflexively react. But while I could make out every word and response between the two women, I found it very easy to focus completely on a book of Gary Younge reportage with a high degree of clarity. Likewise they paid me no heed what so ever. Although we sat a foot apart, an invisible concrete wall filled the void.
My waitress was a young Asian girl with a broad face. She blinked a bit as a response, and spent a few moments sporting a blank expression before writing down my order.
My food came early enough. In the midst of the recession, you hear wives tales and six o'clock news reports that claim that restaurants, unfortunately vulnerable to the current hardships, make every cost saving cut available. In N______ I inspected my dinner thoroughly. The rice balls supporting the sushi seemed smaller than ever and the slices of fish drooped onto the plate. While a raising a piece of tuna, my chopsticks form failed me, and the rice ball popped out, hitting my leg and rolling out onto the floor.
As I ate, attuned to this as I am now, I saw a small brown mouse dart across the floor. I coughed, my gums full of rice and raw tuna.
It stands to reason that in any major city, any floor on the ground level or lower will have rodents. Cleanliness be damned. They're too smart, and too numerous. If you have any connections to the dining circuit in friends or acquaintances, you may have heard stories of rodent infestations.
My roommate had a mouse story or two to go along with every notch in her resume. But that was second hand. I never saw a rodent at a restaurant.
The mouse reappeared. It had a nubby tail, a sign it may have been starving at one point and used that appendage for nourishment, and a stout body. It moved slowly and deliberately, closer and closer to me. None of the customers noticed. It trotted under the table of the two Asian women, one of whom answered a phone call, and began to speak, loudly, in her native tongue.
I imagined them feeling it at their ankles and screaming, refusing to pay their bill. The other remaining customers, a couple solid necked college students, would follow suit. They looked like the New England Ivy League type, they may write the whole thing off to their being in Baltimore.
All the time I was fixated on the ball of rice I'd dropped on the floor. If the mouse should find it, what should I do? I redoubled my efforts to finish the meal. As is nature, I imagined if the stray mouse was an indication of an infestation. My chewing slowed.
I imagined the mouse around my feet now. I've seen the things within striking distance before, and I always choked under the pressure. They're walking pouches of blood and bone. I try not kill centipedes because of the mess their little bodies make, so with mammals my reluctance doubles. Maybe I'm just a coward.
I thought of making a scene, flipping over tables and refusing the check. I shouldn't be having expensive meals anyway.
It didn't matter, the mouse vanished. For whatever reason I was the only person who could see it.
The phone conversation ended next to me. “Was that your husband?”
“Yes. He's at home now.”
I retrieved the rice ball off the floor with my sole napkin and placed it on my plate. No one noticed.
The check came quickly.
On the way out, the mouse appeared again a foot away from me under a tray of dishes. It paused, not terribly concerned by me. Perhaps it thought itself hidden. The wait staff were entirely engaged in a conversation. The two pairs of customers were similarly preoccupied. The mouse looked at my shin and gingerly retreated from view. I left, doing my level best to feel queasy from the meal.