Why am I angry?

Why am I angry?

The man at in the Thai cafe was the only Caucasian behind the counter. He stood a head taller than the rest, a head balder and brasher than the rest. He was the ringleader - the choreographer without grace or finesse. A tall mess, and he took orders and ordered the rest.

It was my first pick - because it was close and it looked quiet and I wanted to read a book and eat a noodle soup. I wish I had picked better. I picked the clear combination soup, paid 9.90 and took a seat near the door, where it was quiet and cold, and I wished I picked better.

So I moved further into the buzz of the restaurant. I could hear the bald man barking orders and taking orders, brusquely.

He dumped my soup on the table. It looked over-cooked, and I thought about Pho down the road and how deliciously simple and fresh Pho down the road was, and I wished I chosen better. There was no cutlery. Cutlery at the front, he said as he moved on to take the next order or dump the next clear soup in front of a customer without cutlery.

I moved on. I got up and left my soup uneaten. I am sorry to all the people who could have filled their bellies with clear soup. Because I was too angry at this stupid tall bald man, I wasted a whole bowl of soup. And went down the road and ordered Pho.