Dawn had just broken when I recieved a call from my Project Manager informing me that he had arranged for us to meet two friends of his with the potential of acquiring some tenders from the Department of Housing. With the recession a constant monkey on our backs, I no longer go through my standard list of 20 questions before ascertaining the worthiness of these kind of meetings. I've become somewhat of a Meeting Slut, attending any even if it results in nothing more than changing the lock on the janitors door.
By 7:30am i'd already donned my favourite blue suit and polished my shiny Ferregamo shoes. I informed Livingstone (my Project Manager) that we should meet at Picollo Mondo at the Michaelangelo for breakfast, being my watering hole of choice to impress potential clients and people of importance. He's response told me he'd never dined there before, which really gave me no cause for concern.
I arrived just as the Saturday morning herd began occupying the limited seating and secured myself a table for four. A few minutes later and Livingstone arrived, suitably impressed with the location but not without a disconcerting look of anxiety. I was about to ask why he looked so nervous when I spotted through the corner of my eye what can best be described as "Casual Labour Gone Wrong" walk through the doors.
It turns out that the two people he intended introducing me to were simply labourers who worked for the consultant who had the tender. They expected to meet me before introducing me to said consultant on another occassion!
If the blue overalls they wore were out of place in Picollo Mondo, their dirty work boots stood out like the sugar-allergic kid at a birthday party! I dashed over to them faster than George Michael out of the mensroom when the cops come knocking, yanked them by the arms and had them follow me all the way to my car.
The waiter cast me a wry smile as I moved the venue to MacDonalds, where it dawned on me that suddenly I was the one inappropriately dressed.
This wasnt even 8am and already my day was looking challenging!
I spent the afternoon on my golf lessons, since nothing calms me down better than some quality green. An hour into the lesson and my instructor asked why I keep pulling my ball. "I think your grip on the shaft is too tight" he suggested. Im not sure if the lady behind me has stopped laughing, but I didnt stick around to find out.
I decided that some Prawn Chow Mein and Hot & Sour Soup would be the perfect ending to a rather forgetful day, and headed to an old favourite haunt in Cyrildene. I've always felt right at home in Chinatown, but the place had changed so much since i'd last been there. The Chinese have always fascinated me with their tight family units, and their beautiful waitresses with even tighter buns. How do they get their hair to stay so nicely rolled up with just 2 chopsticks? ;p
So there I am at Fong Mei Dragon Restaurant, tucking into my sizzling prawns and sipping on my green tea, when Lucy Liu's prettier sister siddles up to my table with an enchanting smile and asks "Evlything all light Sir?"
I started unbuttoning my shirt before I realised she was enquiring about the food, and hadnt in fact said "Damn boy youre hot! Lets go out back and you can grill some Pecking Duck!"
The bill arrived an hour later, and I wondered if the restaurants in Cyrildene all gave you a hand-written tab with not a word of English on it, making the only decipherable scribble the total amount due?
It really could have read "This is how much you owe me for staring at my teenage daughter, you dirty bastard!" and I wouldnt have known any better.
No point enquiring or asking for a translation, lest her brother came out the back with a Hatori Hanso sword and they started playing the soundtrack to Bruce Lee's "Enter The Dragon", so I politely paid and said my goodbyes.
I turned the radio on during my drive back home, and they were playing "I Will Survive".
I certainly hope tomorrow I will, for another day like today I could do without...
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