Home Town Buffet and the Chinese Consulate

The Home Town Buffet Restaurant is located in Tracy, California, and the PRC’s Consulate is in San Francisco. They don’t have much in common but for the fact that I visited them within forty-eight hours of each other.

Home Town Buffet and the Chinese Consulate_1On Monday, at about 1:30 in the afternoon, I went to Home Town for lunch. I don’t enjoy eating alone but sometimes it seems that there’s not another idle person around like me. And a man in his solitude can only take so many repeated meals of bread, banana and beer. The awful thing about eating by yourself is that you don’t really know where to place your eyes. If you look at a beautiful female you are staring. If you pay attention to a male hunk you are being hostile. None of which is acceptable social behavior. So I usually bring a book and pretend to be the quiet and scholarly type. The funny thing about acting to read is that your senses actually become very sharp. Your peeping eye and tapping ear are turned on. You are just that much more aware of your surroundings.

Sitting two tables from me was a family of five: two middle-aged parents and three lovely children, aged about ten, six, and four. After they sat down, their waitress came and introduced herself. Part of the conversation went like this:

“Welcome to Home Town! My name is Carol and I am going to be your server. Have you been here before? Do you have any questions?” The friendly waitress said.

“We’ve eaten here before, but thank you!” The father said.

“Oh, you’re welcome. Did you know kids two and under eat for free? How old are your children?” The waitress asked.

“My youngest boy here is two,” answered the father.

“Wonderful, then I’ll just charge you for four people. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” The waitress said.

After the waitress stepped away, the youngest boy said, “Dad, I am not two, I am almost four.”

“Shut up!” The dad retorted.

Lunch at Home Town is pretty cheap; it’s only $8 a person. That father is even cheaper.

Fast forward to Tuesday. Early morning at about 10 o’clock I was at the Chinese Consulate in San Francisco Home Town Buffet and the Chinese Consulate_2applying for a tourist visa. While there was no standing line inside, the waiting lobby was almost full with about 40
or 50 people sitting about. When I entered the front door on Geary Street, the security guard told me to get a
number from a machine. I took my tab: number 74. The number being flashed on the neon board on the wall was 38. So it was not super busy, but not immediate service either. I found an empty seat in the front row and sat down passively. It was aisle and I could rest my left elbow on the end. All alone in a crowd, it was time to feign reading again.

In front of me, along the wall, under the digital neon board, were book racks with a few newspapers and magazines. A boy about four years old went up to the racks with a magazine in his hand. It was an English magazine called Beijing Review. I was a little surprised as I did not expect a child this young to be interested in reading something that serious. Perhaps he was just looking at the color pictures of the well-dressed and shiny-dyed politicians and their accommodating spouses. That could be a bit more entertaining than reading the black and white Chinese newspaper 人民日报 People’s Daily that was just stacked a shelf above. I saw that the boy was returning the magazine to the top of the pile. Apparently he had to place the magazine away from the other magazines and newspapers. Despite his young and imperfect motor coordination, after a good five minutes, he managed to place the magazine quite squarely on top of the correct pile. Then I heard a woman’s gentle voice about two rows behind me: “That is perfect, Billy, and thank you.” A very caring, motherly voice. I couldn’t help but turn to look at the woman, who had a kind expression to match the nice and appropriate compliments to her son.

Almost unfair to the beautiful mother who just casually taught her son to do something reasonable and responsible, I was reminded of the brute at Home Town, who blatantly showed his children how to cheat for a meal. Two families, two different philosophies.

*** The End ***

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