Six o’clock, bobbed hair young lady, the seat by the window, a white
T-shirt, a big bowl of beef noodles, extra spicy.
If you go to a restaurant regularly as I do, you may notice someone
being seated at the same table, ordering the same food, and wearing the same
style of clothes every day. For example, I meet this bobbed hair lady. I call
her the spicy lady.
However, the spicy lady is late today. It is twenty past six when
she appears at the door. Unusually for her, she wears a sapphire dress and a
pair of milky pumps which make her look elegant and graceful. It is the busiest
time of day for a restaurant and her favorite seat has been taken. She stands
in front of me, looking around and hesitating to take a seat.
“You can sit here.” I speak to her.
Looking me up and down, she puts her black leather bag on the table
and squeezes into the seat opposite me.
“Beef noodles, extra spicy.” She orders without reading the menu.
“Always beef noodles, extra spicy?” I question.
She shows no surprise that I am familiar with her taste.
“We are both regulars.” She says and looks into my eyes, smiling.
“You are a little bit late today.”
She takes a mouthful of water and says “I just came back from
downtown.”
“You work in downtown? What’s your job?”
“Just Guess.”
The waiter brings her noodles with a layer of spicy red sauce
floating on the top. She buries herself in the bowl and her glasses steam up.
“You come here to have dinner at a set time every day. Usually, you don’t
dress up. But today is an exception. You may have flexible working hours.
However, you need to meet your colleagues or partners every few days. You might
be a freelance writer or designer.”
I am quite confident about my answer. Since my wife stopped nagging
me recently, I have some time for my favorite detective movies which improves
my logic.
“Good line of reasoning,” She picks up a slice of beef, “but you are
wrong, inspector...I am the one who sells time.” She says in an extremely calm
voice.
“Oh.”
I try to pretend that I know about the occupation but I fail.
“I love the astonished face people have when they hear about my job.”
She looks at me through the steam on her glasses.
“I’m, I’m just curious about—”
“How to sell time, right? My job is to spend my time as my customers’.
People hire me to visit their parents, select birthday gifts for their children
or to attend some situations for them. For example, this afternoon, a writer
hired me to pose as her in a reading party.”
“A writer? Reading party?”
As a man who works with numbers and computers all day, I have not
done reading for a long time. The word “reading” seems unfamiliar to me. But my
wife does love novels which I perceive as stupid illusion. She always wants to
talk to me about some stories while I am replying to e-mails from my boss.
“She is a blogger of some renown.” She continues, “She labels
herself as a sentimental housewife. Her subtle description of urban people’s
emotional life attracts a number of lonely souls in the crowded cities. Her heart-broken
story of her workaholic husband impresses me a lot.”
“But why does she not attend the party in person?” I ask.
“She has concerns about what will happen if others know who she is
in real life. Actually she is not worried about herself but her husband, even
though that man seldom cares about her feelings. She loves her husband anyway.
But they were going to divorce, she told me. The man makes no effort to keep
her.”
“Wow.”
As a man who also has marital problem, I don’t want to comment. Maybe
the writer has the same problem that my wife has with me. I am busy with my
work as an investment analyst. And, my wife, a typical woman who desires
romance, always expects me to spend more time with her. Every time I see the
disappointment in her eyes when I refuse to take a walk outside with her, I am
upset, too. However, after working more than 10 hours, the only thing I want to
do is to slump into my chair and rest.
“You know what, the biggest advantage or disadvantage of my job is that
I always witness the raging wave beneath the serene surface of the world. Some
make me laugh and some take me to the verge of tears.”
The spicy lady lays down her chopsticks and seems a little bit down.
“It sounds like a good job.” I try to cheer her up.
“Yes. The job never bores me. But the more time I sell, the less I
have for myself.”
“Actually those who work in the cubicle with no passion are also
selling their time. They sell it to their boss, you sell it to other people. No
big difference.” I think I know well about the nine-to-five guys because I am
one of them. “At least you have every evening free, sitting here, enjoying your
noodles.”
“How do you know that I am not working now?” Seeing my confusing
expression, she adds, “Three months ago, I got an order which required me to
have dinner here every day.”
“What? Someone paid you to eat here.”
It is definitely a weird but fantastic job, I think to myself.
“Guess who he is.” She asks me.
“I don’t know. It’s strange and beyond my understanding.”
“This one hit my heart.” She confesses.
Cupping her chin, she looks out the window. There is a long silence before
she starts to talk again.
“He is my ex. He left me because I had little time for him. Because of
my job and laziness, my life was chaotic. I seldom had dinner even though he
asked me to. He became my customer to compel me to have dinner regularly. I
know all he wants is that I can live a healthy and normal life. I know he still
cares about me. But I just--”
She turns her head to hide her facial expression or maybe her tears.
I can feel her regret and loneliness. Not knowing how to comfort her, I pat her
hand. At this very second, and just for one second, she reminds me of myself.
We fall into silence until we pay and say goodbye to each other.
Walking on the bustling street, I take out my phone, think for
several minutes and text my wife who sent me the divorce agreement this
afternoon.
“Baby, give me one more chance. I suddenly realize what you mean to
me.”
