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The Pervert, His Cake And His Pride
The girl at the bakery recognized me and asked if I was the same guy that purchased a birthday cake the other day. When I admitted it was me, she asked me why I was buying another cake again on a Sunday night.
Although I told her it was for one of my staff to celebrate her birthday on Monday morning, I knew that the sly look the girl wore on her face meant she was already cooking up sordid fantasies of me proceeding on to some glamourously seedy KTV where I would no doubt be dabbing cake and cream on the nipples of a few whores while singing “Happy Birthday” in Mandarin, Cantonese and English!
Being judged and pronounced guilty by a mere bakery sales assistant was too much for my fragile state of mind. It was bad enough being alone and cold on a windy Sunday night in China – now I had to put up with being labeled as a pervert every time I walked into the bakery.
In order to put away such thoughts, I developed a sudden thirst that only a double-malt whiskey would quench. So I made my way to ‘the’ American Bar, which unfortunately is the only place I know of to get high on credit cards in town (I don’t have that much cash left).
As usual the place was packed to the brim with foreigners eating terrible tasting steaks and even worst pasta. Since I only wanted to drink, I sat at the bar and placed the cakebox on the bar counter. With my arse parked firmly on the stool, I ordered a whiskey sour which the bartender (some kid from Hubei who has no doubt been snogging all the waitresses in the joint every night after work).
So this HUGE American dude walks in with his pal and they stand next to me. I’m not a racist, but Americans who don’t travel much tend to get on my nerves. The pair begin talking very loudly and waving their arms in the air like gorillas.
Then the HUGE dude, whom I will refer to as Biggie henceforth, bumps me while I am sipping my drink. He doesn’t apologize and instead offers me a smile and shrugs his shoulders.
A few moments later, Biggie’s massive hands slam into my cakebox, and dents it!!!
Powered and encouraged by whiskey, I lose it.
“WHAT THE HEOW DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, YOU’VE MESSED UP MY CAKE DAMMIT”
At that point Biggie decides he’s a gangsta and starts talking like Snoop Digg.
“W’SUP – I DIDN’T DO NUTHING, AIN’T NO PROBLEM HERE. WE GOT NO PROBLEM RIGHT?”
I look him directly in the eyes and stare long and hard. Then I said
“DO YOU THINK IT’S WISE, PICKING A FIGHT WITH AN ENGLISH SPEAKING CHINK GUY IN A BAR FULL OF CHINKS, IN A TOWN FULL OF CHINKS WHERE EVERY MOTHER’S SON IS A CHINK?”
Biggie’s friend pushes him back and said:
“Ok, so sorry for my pal here – look we’ll pay for your drink and the cake ok? We don’t want no trouble.”
Then Biggie’s friend slams down a pile of cash on the table and they quickly leave the bar. I look at the cash, and realized there was enough money for another whiskey and probably another 2-3 cakes. So I finish up my drink, give the damaged cake to the bartender and walk back to the bakery to buy another (undamaged) cake.
As I walk into the bakery, I realize with horror but it’s too late – the sales assistant greets me saying:
Hello so it’s you again, whose birthday is it this time now for tonight?!!
ARRGHGHGHHGHGHGHGHGHHGHGHGHGHGHH!!!
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