Raw compatridos

We went to a conveyor sushi bar last night.

sushi1

The inevitable compatridos showed up. They occupied two stools and called the waitress. They held long negotiations at the top of their voices with each other and the waitress on the kind of fish they wanted. “Salomon!” they cried out. “Salmon should be ready later” replied the waitress. They did not like that. “Tuna!” they proposed. “We have no tuna today, sir” the waitress apologised. They called for the maitre d’. They made their point (quite audible). They finally chose some dishes from the conveyor.

sushi2

Then they called the waitress again, for soup this time. Then they spent time making idiotic puns and weak jokes, so characteristic of the pitiful substitute that passes as ‘wit’ where I come from. Urgh. They were talking loudly enough for everyone to hear. Then they called the waitress again (Note: there is a table service sushi bar next door. Why on earth did they not go there?) Then one of them said “Hey man, we are the only ones to occupy the personnel here.” Good. Then they left. Even better.

sushi3

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4 thoughts on “Raw compatridos

  1. But: had they opted for the table service sushi bar next door, this post of yours wouldn’t be. I do not propose we got to thank them for that; still, it is a sign of divine intervention when such incidents are imposed upon the creative. (Sis witnessed an accident yesterday, involving two pedestrians. I wonder if there will be a relevant post. Or am I forcing it now?)

  2. Personally, I think your “inevitable compatridos” (not necessarily the same ones in this particular post) are pretty good at that idiotic puns and weak jokes thing. In an airport once, I overheard two of them discussing different ways of making/eating rice (nobody mentioned sushi, though) and finally, one of them said, “Well, fried rice is better than Condoleeza Rice!” Now, tell me that’s not witty and cute.

    Dys, some things should be forced. Others, not.

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