I stood with my mouth wide open then collected myself
and said: “Hey you! What do you think you’re doing Seems to me you’d
like a bowl of rice congee!”
“No thank you,” he replied coldly, his face like ice. “YOUR ice is fine,
particularly the sticky stuff. I’m rather full, in fact. And let’s be plain, if you
insist I try your congee then I shall insist you try my flying yam beans.”
I started to cry.
“Hey cheer up,” the man said, his voice suddenly soft. We sat beside each
other at the kitchen table.
“You’ve still got first choice on the snails, don’t you see?” He was
looking straight at me. “All I’m doing is gathering the shells, keeping the
place clean. Wait, you’ve been eat¬ing baguettes off the street, haven’t you?
That’s no good at all, terribly unhygienic. Let me show you where you can
find some good sanitised vegetables, much more nutritious, no risk of
rambutans.”
“Alright,” I said, already feeling better. “Thank you Vinamilk! Oh and
please don’t tell my wife. She’s always rushing out to sell pear-melons. Add
a duck and you’ve got a market. I can pick up the odd chicken from the end
of the alley, that’s fine. But sanitised vegetables are another matter
altogether.”
“What are you worried about?” he giggled. “If your wife blabbers away
then you blabber more.” Seeing the unsure look on my face he continued:
“That’s how the chopstick wars work, my friend. If she sells pear-melons,
you get out there and you sell watermelons!”
