A Mid-Monday Night’s Much Ado About Rice

Allow me to amuse you as I relay a conversation between a cafe owner and a woman one fine Monday on a summer night. 

The scene unfolds:

After a night run, a woman was looking for rice to go. The unsuspecting cafe owner faced a rice-centric person who babbled in a foreign tongue. 

Act one:

Woman: Hi. Good evening. Do you have rice? 

Cafe owner: Yes.

W: OK, I’ll have three cups. Wait, you have a platter?

(The face now of the owner seems bewildered) 

CO: Uhm, no.

W: OK. Make that three cups. To go, please. 

Act two:

W: Looking at the pastries beckoning to her like a siren singing songs of sweetness—“What’s that?”

CO: Brownies, Ma’am and this one is a revel bar.

W: OK. I’ll get one of each. Do you accept debit or GCash? 

CO: GCash, Ma’am.

W: How much in all? 

CO: 215, Ma’am.

Act three:

While checking on the menu, the food photos looked tantalizing, enticing the woman’s gastronomic cravings. 

W: What time do you open? 

CO: 8 AM, Ma’am.

W: Are you also in Grab, and do you accept downtown delivery? 

CO: Yes. From downtown ka, Ma’am.

W: No, but I work in the downtown area. 

Yes! That was the cafe owner and me last Monday night. The same Monday that I was too lazy to get up. A lazy morning gave way to an adrenaline-fueled evening. 

What’s with Mondays? Why does the universe conspire to make it peculiar? Was there a cosmic alignment of my Monday self then and rice? 

When I relayed this to my brother and Luisa, both exclaimed, “Nag English gyud ka?” Perhaps my sporty dishevelment—with my messy-hair-don’t-care look, sweat-drenched attire, and a towel slung over my shoulder triggered my linguistic reflex. After all, I only asked for rice.

You see, I just came from my night run. I did plan to buy rice because I was too lazy to cook in the morning. My thought then was, if I only bought rice, what would the shop owner think?

My brother and Luisa have the answers. I can only afford rice, or I’m a rice eater or a peculiar soul who pairs her rice with sweets. 

Since I started my “inglisera” mode, “pinanindigan,” as Luisa had said, till I got my rice. Luisa confessed to having similar moments, though she would never buy rice solo from a cafe or a restaurant. I wanted to buy from a carenderia, but none was open on my way home. 

And so, dear readers, that’s the tale we heard as secrets whispered through the cafe’s window. The woman had her rice and her sweet treats. We all have quirks, and perhaps Mondays are cosmic conspirators who spin these unexpected encounters.