My companion and I have not eaten in a restaurant for a good long while. The reason should be obvious. Except, of course, to those who live on Mars.
Today, though, our courage thermometer rises and Covid reservations ease. We decide it's finally time to tuck once again into a fiery meal (sambal chicken) and spicy drink (teh masala) at a mamak joint.
Okay, we decide not to go to an airconditioned place. Even if it has this ioniser and that device, which supposedly send viruses to their doom.
No, it has to be a well-ventilated outlet. Open on all sides, not merely at the front and back. Which is exactly how many established corner-lot mamak shops are fashioned.
So we go to this place which has nice tall trees with needle twigs and a pretty view of a section of the town.
The picture is as dreamy as it can get. It feels like one is in Langkawi's Tanjung Rhu. That's what I thought, at least, before the pandemic hit.
Everything is good so far. It's 11am. There are not many customers. And there's a scruffy-looking black and white cat (cow cat, I call him) happily snoozing under a chair.
But then, I start to notice things.
The food trays — there are many of them — are behind a wall of glass. That's fine. But the servers are not wearing their masks.
More specifically, their masks are drawn down to their chins or necks. And they are yacking away. What nonsense.
They have been vaccinated, so I am told. Gosh! Which planet are they from?
Vaccinated or not, you can still catch the virus and transmit it. Moreover, I don't appreciate someone putting a piece of himself, literally, into my food.
Unhappy, we decide against having lunch there. I walk up to the drinks counter and see a lanky fellow preparing teh tarik. His mask is firmly in place over his mouth and nose.
I order two piping hot glasses of teh masala. The two of us walk to a table in a far corner of the restaurant. It's a patio of sorts.
Before that, it was a kerb for people to walk on, but thanks to the local council's generosity, they may walk on the road instead.
But more of that sarcasm may come in another story.
At this table where we sit, a worker comes rushing with an old ragged cloth in hand and starts wiping vigorously. His mask is loose, and looks like it's about to fall off.
I look at him in astonishment. "Annai, you tak guna spray." He makes no answer.
Behind him comes another fellow with our drinks. His mask is drawn down to the chin. He plonks the glasses on the table, leans over and says, "Makan apa?"
My companion and I look at the poor teh masala right under him, and at each other, in disbelief. In an instant, we get up to make our escape, deserting our drinks.
But first, I have to get in the last word, or so I think. I go to the counter to pay the bill and to put in my two cents' worth.
Aiyo! The "boss", too, has his mask in the wrong place. How lah? I quickly leave a couple of ringgit on the counter and flee in anger and disappointment.
We are definitely not eating in a mamak restaurant for a long while yet. Could I just get an early ride to sterile Mars with Elon Musk in the meantime?
The writer is NST Production Editor
The views expressed in this article are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect those of the New Straits Times
