Bruce like to be on time for his lunch at the Old Post Office. He had a favourite corner area in the atrium and wanted to be seated just right enough to face the performance area. One or two days in a week, some groups performed some vague event. Mostly the foreigner types from some country. They loved to speak in their language, and have someone translate into English. It never mattered anyway. Nobody bothered. Nobody listened to the speeches or introductions. Mostly, the lunch people, as the shopkeepers called them, would look up at a song or dance or music performance, but would not really see anything. It just seemed the right thing to do. Somebody would clap and many would join instinctively to applaud.
He carried his lunch bag with him. Anne had this arrangement. Both would carry their leftovers to work and would mix it up with something they could buy. Anne worked near the L'Enfant Plaza and she went to the underground eateries over there for lunch. That was like a sudden descent from DC to New York for an hour and to return to the sanity and peace of DC again. Bruce liked to experiment. He would walk around the eating places at the Old Post Office and mix and match a different cuisine each day. Mostly it was Indian or Chinese, but somedays he liked to buy from a deli or get a sub salad with extra dressing sachets. The salad would stay for later back in the office if he would get hungry. The salad dressing would be useful to mix in the mashed potatoes and other stuff he had brought with him.
A night time look at the Old Post Office with its clock tower on Pennsylvania Avenue.
The Old Post Office in Washington DC, built in the 1890s.
Has an interior glass-roofed atrium with a food court.
The Dollar Store always had a crowd at the start of lunch hour. That was why Bruce liked to be on time daily for having his lunch at the atrium. The tourists walking in from the Mall and from the Smithsonian would crowd the Dollar Store. Bruce liked to have his lunch and then hit the Dollar Store after lunch hour. He cold see his usual nodding friends at the store. They were mostly clerks from State or Interior or the National Museum and nobody knew nobody. At least, nobody wanted to know nobody. They felt nice, to see each other daily, and nod at each other, and look upon the tourists picking up strange goods from China at the Dollar Store, and nod again at each other, criticising the tourists, patronisingly.
Today, Bruce walked past the Dollar Store and turned left from the Redskins souvenir store and went down the stairs to stand in front of the Indian and Chinese eating places. Most Indian customers were queued up at the Chinese store to get their lunch. All sorts of other foreigners were queued up at the Indian store. Bruce had perfected a scientific technique to decide between the Chinese and Indian eating places. He would get the prawns or chicken fried or curry rice from the Chinese and pick up two samosas or other steamed stuff from the Indian. Bruce felt that it was a good combination. Usually he would have more than half uneaten leftovers, and that would go back with him to give to Anne, when they would meet outside the Metro at Shady Grove, to drive home. She loved to eat these wierd combos, and never argued, probably because she would be hungry by then.
Bruce went with all his food to his table corner and sat happily. Today, there would be no performances. He liked the days without performances. He loved to sit there, having his lunch, looking at the performance area, imagining up music or one man talks to all these people who would applaud anyone out there. Once he had seen two local Metro bus attendants walk by, taking a shortcut over the stage. One of them dropped something, and bent down to pick it up, and some chap in the audience clapped. Soon, several people were applauding the two Metro bus attendants, and they had not performed anything at all.
The Old Post Office has fast food restaurants in the glass-roofed atrium.
Bruce's corner always had him with his back to the store selling all sorts of knives. Throwing knives, Swiss knives, kitchen knives, whatever. He thought it was a bit too strange. A terrorist coming to DC would never have to carry weapons at all. They had to just walk up and down from the White House to the Capitol, and purchase whatever they needed. There were Army Surplus stores too, just near the Capitol. If they were foreigners, as a British tourist had explained, they could claim their VAT back, as they did back in England. Bruce knew that was not true, but never argued with any tourist talking to him at lunch. Who knew what sort of an international incident that could develop, if he would argue, and they would end up in a fight?
Bruce look around him. This was why he loved the Old Post Office atrium at lunch hour. There were different types of people at each table. There were four Japanese schoolgirl-like girls at the nearest table. They did look too old to be schoolgirls, but had dressed up like, in some sort of a fetish. They could be performers, perhaps, from some international event. Many events were happening all over the area. Another table had this huge, white, totally Texan Texan sitting all by himself. He had this huge, huge, huge stetson on him, and strangely, wore reflective green coloured glares. Now, that would definitely be thought to be a fetish, up at Anne's people. Yessirree, for sure.
A group of soldier types in civvies were just about completing their lunch and had waved to a granny with her daughter and grand-daughter to take over their table. Places were getting filled up, and it was always very difficult to get a seat at the atrium. There was a bus-load of school children, probably in from Baltimore or Delaware, judging by their quiet excitement at seeing all the foreigners inside one big atrium. Or, they were probably all tired from walking around in one of the museums of the Smithsonian. Bruce liked to keep imagining the world of those he saw at the Old Post Office. These were all five to ten minute glimpses, and he never tired of it. Five minutes he would be wondering about Chinese horticulturists from remote villages in China and the next ten minutes he would imagine a bunch of Colombian ganglords come to DC to negotiate with the Bureau.
The Clermont Elementary School Chorus
Somedays he had tremendous fun by himself. It was like he had this awesome power. He could connect anyone in the atrium with anyone. Somedays he could go overboard and make a group of Nigerian tourists into fugitives from Spain, here in DC, on their way to New York and apply for asylum. Once he had managed to swallow some terrible almost uncooked steak leftovers from an experimental recipe that Anne had learnt over the phone from her father's sister living up there in Burlington. On that day he managed to have his revenge by pretending that the four Englishwomen, speaking in a squeaky accent, at a table next to him, were actually the wives from a harem of a Taiwanese auto-dealer at the next table. So, where could a Taiwanese auto dealer hide his harem in Washington DC? Another bite of Anne's terrible steak gave him the answer. The Taiwanese must have been hiding away in Vermont, and were probably neighbours to Anne's parents.
Bruce laughed to himself, thinking back to the day. He would have his fun yet. Today, the atrium was filling up fast. Someone was bound to come and join him at his table. He would have his fun. He would have his fun. He would have his fun. He promised to himself that he would be good today. He would not harass them too much. But it would be difficult to resist. Perhaps he could help himself. He looked around the crowd of lunch groupies in the atrium. Maybe he could select the target today. Yes. There they were. An oldish looking couple from India. These were tourists, for sure. Not software yuppies working in the US for some company that was betraying Uncle Sam by hiring cheap guys from India. This old couple looked like they had stepped out today at Dulles. He waved to them, caught their eye, and pointed to the empty chairs at his table.
The old man smiled and bowed, almost bowed, actually, and nudged his wife to walk to the table. They smiled at Bruce and sat at his table. They had their lunch trays with them. Bruce looked at the trays and looked again, startled. They seemed to have got giant burgers, fries and chicken wings. These two were not eating Indian food? Not even Chinese fried rice? The lady seemed to also have diet cola with her. How much more American could they get? This was sick, man, thought Bruce. This was, like, betrayal.
From Saffron Apron by Smitha - all about veg burgers
He looked up. The couple were looking at Bruce and were smiling. They did not start on their lunch. They looked like they were waiting for him to talk to them. Maybe the lunch hour could be saved after all. Perhaps he could get into a performance for stringing this couple along and talk out some long stories. Perhaps he could be a Hollywood actor today and talk to this nice looking old couple of how he knew Clint Eastwood on first name basis. These tourist types, especially the old ones from India, they knew only Clint Eastwood and Sean Connery. They even thought that Clint Eastwood had done a James Bond movie and Sean Connery had perhaps done a Western that had been banned in India.
The old man decided to start the conversation. He said, "Thank you, Sir, for allowing us to sit here with you. I am grateful. Mrs. Naidu is also grateful. Say Thank You, Ashwin-ki-Maa, this nice man will be happy." Bruce looked at them, exasperated. This was not going like he had planned. He had wanted to talk to them and take them on a spin. They were taking away his talking time. No. That was not right, he thought to himself. They were talking away his talking time. Bruce smiled, speaking the line inside his head again and again. Talking away his talking time. There, the old lady was talking away, smiling, something, "Thank you. Are you from England? Have you been to India? Do you like Indian food?"
Bruce nodded weakly. The old man was talking again. "I am Mr. Ramdas Naidu. My wife is Mrs. Naidu. We are from India. Have you visited India?" Bruce shook his head quietly, in the negative, from side to side. He waved to the food, gestured to them to begin eating. The lady was speaking now, "Thank you, Sir. We are eating this supergiant burgers today. We do not cook this at home. This chicken pieces, they called Chicken Wings, you know? But, these are not wings at all, you know? They are good looking. We want to eat them today. Have you visited India? We are from India, you know?"
One of the few westerns with Sean Connery
This was beginning to sound like a failed lunch hour. Why did they keep asking if he had visited India? He had just now gestured, shaking his head, from side to side, in the negative. Suddenly, Bruce realised. He remembered it out from somewhere in the past. That gesture that he had done, shaking his head from side to side, that was the classic head nod that all Indians used, in a manner of saying that all was well, god was up there, and the world did not have any sinners down here. Everybody lived in peace on the world. Probably because everyone was from the great one religion and all other religions were just accidents in Time. He had been given this lecture before, he remembered, that Hinduism existed from more than 30,000 years and Christ was only 2000 years ago. He better not ask this old couple about how old did they think that their religion was. They may actually know, thought Bruce, shaking his head, cautiously.
He should focus on his food, and eat it up, and get back to work. It was not his day. It would not be wise to get into a conversation with them. He began to eat his leftovers and the salad. He should pretend that this couple was not here. Bruce looked around the atrium. There wasn't any action out there. The school kids from Baltimore or Delaware or Gaithersburg or somewhere were too tired to be creating any ruckus. The group of army men in civvies were in the toy store. How good it would have been to be able to talk to the army types. He would have remembered the lunch and he could have used that story to tell another one to other people he could have met here at the Old Post Office.
The old man was poking him on his arm. He was actually physically poking him. Bruce could not believe it. The old man was saying something, "Sir, Sir, are you a taxi driver from London? I think we may have travelled in your taxi, from Soho to Buckingham Palace. We were staying in Upton Town, but we took the Underground to Soho. Do you remember? We came there in 1982. Do you remember? When did you come to the America? Do you drive taxi here in Washington city? Is your taxi parking outside?" Bruce was beginning to panic now. He did not even dare to reply or shake his head. He just smiled, very weakly, and continued to eat. He took in large mouthfuls, so that he would not be able to reply. When did he become a taxi driver in London? He wanted to be an action hero from Hollywood today at lunch-hour. Not a taxi driver in Soho in London in 1982.
From - http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/what-to-look-forward-in-london/story-e6freyp0-1111117288929
The classic London cab
He had to finish his lunch fast, double fast, and hide in the Dollar Store. That would be much more relaxing. He did not have to talk to anyone. Meanwhile, he had to just pretend that this old couple from India were not here. He picked out his salad dressing sachets, and tore one open, and poured it over his mashed potato leftovers. Suddenly, he was worried. He could sense that the old lady had stopped eating her burger and was looking at his lunch plate. Did she want to eat his lunch also? Oh god, thought Bruce, panicking, please do not get her started to talk to me. I will give her my lunch, I will. If only she would be quiet.
She was talking. She said, "Sir's potatoes are not cooked. See, he is pouring that refined oil on his potatoes." The old man looked at Bruce's lunch and was nodding apologetically, and sadly, and he was saying, to his wife, "No. No. That is how British food is. You remember that very bad food we had at that Bed and Breakfast we had in Oxford? in 1982? That strange old lady house owner gave us all that cold over boiled potatoes and the badly burnt long thick sausages in reused oil for breakfast? That is how they cook potatoes." The old man continued, now talking to Bruce, "Sir, I am correct, no? This is potato from England, no? Your wife also come from England with your mother to Washington DC, to the America?"
This was very frightening. Bruce began to gulp extra large mouthfuls of the mashed potatoes. He had now stopped responding to the old couple. They did not seem to mind. Perhaps they thought that like a good cab driver from London, he was not speaking to passengers. They would perhaps follow him to work, thinking that he had parked his taxi at a distance. Suddenly, Bruce felt that he could not swallow. The mashed potatoes had become globulous, sticky and had become a thick lump. It would not go in. He needed water.
Mashed potatoes with gravy
He started drinking and slowly the lump was moving. Very slowly. The old lady had not taken her eyes off his salad dressing sachet. He could see her mouth the name of the dressing brand to herself. By god, she was memorising it, Bruce realised, she would go back and tell everyone about what the taxi driver from London had used on uncooked potatoes in Washington DC for lunch. Bruce felt terrible. This was what his trade at lunch was all about. To make others feel miserable and squirm.
And, this old couple from India were not even trying to make him miserable. They were just being honest. Perhaps he was expecting too much from this encounter, thought Bruce. He had better relax and not want anything. Maybe he could learn from them, and maybe, he could use these lines on others, at the atrium in the lunch hour tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow would be his day. Hopefully, the granny-daughter-granddaughter like combo would come tomorrow to the atrium food court at the Old Post Office. Should he dare open his salad bag? The old lady may again say that he was eating uncooked leafy vegetables by pouring uncooked oil over it.
The moment would come, and perhaps, just perhaps, he could have his revenge. Did these people know that burgers in the States were made from 200% beef? Did the Hindus eat beef? Did these two oldies know that they were committing sacrilege with their religion? Slowly, very gently, Bruce began his conversation, "Sir, madam, what is that big burger that you are about to eat? Do you people in India eat beef? did you know that the Big Mac in the US is all-beef?" The old couple had stopped eating their chicken wings and were looking at him quietly. There, thought Bruce, that had indeed shocked them. He had his revenge. This was sweet. Perhaps today's lunch hour could still be redeemed.
From - http://scrapetv.com/News/News%20Pages/Health/Images/giant-burger.jpg
Giant Burger. Not the burgers being discussed, for sure. :-)
The old lady was speaking, "Yes, we were also fooled earlier at another shop chain. All Big Mac in the America is beef. We did not know in India. In India, Big Mac is chicken. Here, my son and his wife, warned us, no, they did not warn us here. Do you use yahoo messenger with streaming video?" Startled at the question, Bruce wondered, what was that? What did streaming video have to do with Big Mac and beef? What was streaming video anyway? He knew yahoo. That was email. On the Internet. He knew email. He had AOL. America Online. He hardly used it. He got all his mail on his office network. They had explained it to him at his office. They had told him that he did not need to use the AOL. The *.gov email was good as long as he was on his computer. He would get all he wanted on his computer from the office network.
Suddenly, Bruce realised, he had stopped eating. He had stopped looking around the atrium in the lunch hour. This had never happened to him. His mind had blacked out and he was back at his office desk, sitting next to his colleague from Japan, working on his computer. The colleague from Japan was working on her computer. But what did that have to do with the Big Mac and beef? These tourist types from India were very smart and sinister. They were confusing him and making him lose himself. Did they practice talking like this in India? What was yahoo messenger? Did yahoo send messengers to India? Did they not have internet down there? Boy, how primitive could you be?
The old lady was talking again. She was saying, "Yahoo messenger, you know. I managed to get good streaming video on my new i5 Pentium laptop in India. The video on my yahoo is very good. It was not good on my earlier laptop. I changed it last month. What is the use of broadband 24 hours if you cannot use it on a good laptop? My daughter-in-law uses yahoo messenger and she told me that it would be great fun in the America, because everything is different here. She told me to bring her good hot mustard and mayonnaise from India also."
Ramesh Koothrapalli, from the popular "The Big Bang Theory" on web camera
This was terrible, Bruce thought. This lady was too good. She was a grandmaster at lunch hour conversation. What was all this gobble bobble about streaming video, broadband, 24 hours, i5 Pentium and all that? What did this have to do with Big Mac and beef? Why did her daughter-in-law ask her to bring mustard from India? Mayonnaise? Streaming Video? How did this old lady know all this? Why did anyone need 24 hours internet? Bruce believed in what the Information Systems guys at his office had told him. They were smart guys. One of them had been called for a project at NASA and he had refused. Everyone pointed to him at the conference room and spoke in whispers. He had briefed everybody and had said, "You do not need to know. This is the United States of America. There is no need to know for everyone. The internet is for army and navy specialists and for microsoft and for IBM. It helps you double your money. Buy microsoft and IBM shares. Use your government email id. The network will not support other email ids."
Wait, thought Bruce, why was he babbling in his mind like this? This old lady was too good. Did the old man also speak like this? Better not get him started. He may take till dinner to solve the mystery of the Big Mac and beef. This was his mistake, he knew, he had to open his mouth and speak about it. Each time this old lady spoke about anything, three unrelated events seemed to occur. First, he did not understand what she said. Second, he was being thrown back into his office, in real time. Third, he was feeling like he was floating in limbo.
The old lady had not stopped talking. She was saying, "You see, I talk to my grandchildren and son and daughter-in-law all the time. We keep the web camera on the TV in our bedroom in Mumbai. On MTNL in Mumbai, we have free internet at night. And at night in Mumbai, it is day in the America, no? My son wants to see Sachin Tendulkar batting in tests and one days. You like Sachin? I love him. He is such a sweet boy. I talk a lot, you know? Mr. Naidu always stops me. Today he likes the giant burger a lot. So, he is not stopping me. My daughter-in-law, you know, she said, Big Mac in the America is all beef. So do not eat Big Mac in the America."
Sachin Tendulkar - the greatest - after hitting the first ODI double century
What? Bruce tingled all over. She knew that Big Mac was all beef? And this old couple had still purchased Big Mac? But wasn't that against their religion? Who was this Sachin? Why did he have tests and one-day whatever in their bedroom? Was he testing them for eating or not eating beef? Maybe their son had asked some priest called Sachin to test them on any one day and check if they were eating Big Mac or beef? Was that why they were eating the big burger here? in the atrium, because they were not in their bedroom, and somebody called Sachin was there batting with a cricket? Did they have crickets in their bedroom? Perhaps they kept the bedroom windows open at night and the insects came in.
The old man had finished his burger and burped loudly. He took a sip of his cola drink, and burped again, loudly. He smiled happily, that he had enjoyed his lunch. He gestured to his wife to start on her burger and leaned forward toward Bruce and caught hold of his lunch bag and cleared his throat to speak.
Bruce was worried. Now, this old man would start speaking. He looked down at his lunch tray. The two samosas he had got from 'The Indian Delight' were probably getting to be too cold. He knew these samosas. They tasted better when they were eaten hot. Anne would not be able to eat them at Shady Grove Metro. They would have to wait until they reached home and he had heated them on the microwave. Perhaps he could get some of those cookies from Larry's. They were all that he did not want them to be, he thought, with a smile. Anne loved Larry's Cookies. There were the specials she liked, without preservatives, fats or oils. Man, his granny would shoot the one who would make cookies that way. These women from up north seemed to like all that was not correct about the American way of life. Sometimes he suspected, that Anne and her family had sneaked in from Canada.
Samosas. Mostly, vegetarian. Several non-vegetarian recipes are also popular.
Something was wrong with his ears, Bruce thought. He was hearing some low droning noise. He tried to focus. What was that noise? Somebody or something seemed to be talking inside his head in a strange singsong funny accent. Bruce opened his eyes and realised it was the old man who was talking all this time. He had blanked him out and had mentally gone to Larry's Cookies to smell the fresh aroma of new cookies, but this old man did not seem to have noticed. Boy! Phew! What was that smell? The burger must have had extra onions, and garlic. Garlic? Who put garlic in good all-American burgers? What had these people eaten anyway?
The old man was saying something about vegetarian burgers. Something soya, cheese and onions and garlic chutney. Bruce tried to block the sound off. Who were these people? Who sold vegetarian burgers with garlic chutney in the Old Post Office? As far as he knew, the Tower Grill sold burgers, kebabs and sandwiches. But, the last time he had stood there and wondered if he should buy, they were mostly all-beef burgers. He dared not buy there. The Tower Grill prices were all touristy prices. It would be better to go to the Deli behind Citibank and buy burgers from there. They had good chips and grits and the smell was all southern at the place. Anything was better to think about rather than worry about the mystery of the vegetarian burger with garlic chutney in the Old Post Office.
The old man was talking to his wife now. Relieved, hopefully, the conversation had ended, Bruce returned mentally back to the lunch table in the atrium at the Old Post Office from the Southern Deli and the awesome southern smells. The old man was saying, "I have told him. This poor man. He is from England, no, so he did not know. I told him that this giant burger is all vegetarian. The bun is from Sam's Club that we bought, six dozens, very cheap. Onions, big ring ones, we get only from Thursday sale at Cosco. Burger Patty, all soya patty, is from Mrs. Sharma's vegetarian burgers from Ohio we get by courier. This man from England, he does not know America."
Nearly 30 year old Deli at Silver Spring. Still sells mother's taste quarter pounder at about $2.
Bruce was aghast. Who went to all this trouble? Buns from Sam's Club? The nearest one was somewhere in Delaware. It probably cost more to go to Delaware to buy burger buns. Here he was, working at a good job in the government, as high as G-9, and he did not afford to buy burgers at the tourist trap joints in DC. And he had tried to save those two to three dollars everyday, and here were these two, who seemed to have a good thing going. He was getting hungry again. It felt like it was all of yesterday that he had eaten the mashed potatoes and met these old people from India. Maybe he would eat the prawns fried rice he had got at 'Panda Cafe', the Chinese eatery next to the 'Indian Delight'. The rice from Panda Cafe was really tasty. The prawns had gone cold on him.
The old man was looking at the prawns fried rice and pointing, and telling his wife, "See, again, this poor Londonwallah really does not know how to live in the America. He is eating more uncooked food. See, those prawns? They all look uncooked. Who can eat them like that? There is no curry or gravy in the rice. Poor man. He should get married again, and marry an Indian or Mexican woman and eat real food." The old lady looked at the bowl of prawns fried rice and actually shuddered. Bruce was mortified now. What would Mr. Lee of Panda say if he heard all this? He did not know if the owner of Panda Cafe was really Mr. Lee. Both he and Anne had made up the name. Mr. Lee sounded nice. It made others think that Bruce was a good friend of Mr. Lee. The owner of the Indian Delight was Mr. Rao, and Anne was happy with the name given by her, so, Bruce was happy.
More than 25 years in existence, I think. Have always enjoyed eating here. The owner had a kind word for most tourists and visitors from India. Always enquired about the journey. Thank you, Kind Sir. Just to go there, and stand and take in the aroma, made me feel at home.
The touristy old couple from India were still talking among themselves. Suddenly, the old man stood up and said, "Sir, I have request for your very kind help. I want to go to toilet and pass water, you know. At my age, it is difficult to wait. Can you please help?" Bruce could not believe his ears. He almost choked on his prawns. What did this old man want? Did he want him to go to the toilet with him and help him out of his belt buckle or something? He put on his most apologetic face to start saying sorry and to say that he could not go with him to the, what did he call it? Toilet? What was that? Did he expect that the toilet seats were kept somewhere out in the open? Had he never gone to the restrooms in the States?
The old man was still talking, hastily now, because he really seemed to want to go, fast. He was saying, "Sir, please, I will go and come. Mrs. Naidu is still eating her lunch. Please watch my chair. Someone may take it or sit on it. Please wait till I return. I will keep your lunch bag on my chair. It is then reserved for me. Please do not go. I will go and I will come fast. I always come fast. Do not worry, Sir. We will take your taxi to Lincoln Memorial. You will not make any loss."
Bruce was beyond any sadness now. He was nearing the time to go to the Dollar Store and he still had two to three minutes to gulp down, or swallow up the prawns fried rice. He could wait. This old man had just now guaranteed that he would come fast. Bruce chortled at the image. He could use that line daily, in different combinations. He did not dare talk to the lady, who, he was sure, was watching him with great attention on his 'uncooked prawns' and steamed rice.
Shrimp fried rice, or prawns fried rice. Excellent recipes on the link. Enjoy.
The school children from somewhere outside DC had finished their lunch and were queueing up. Their school teachers had two Metro Bus attendants helping them, perhaps out of voluntary courtesy. The children were looking all around, pointing at the atrium's glass ceiling and at the grand ballroom-like stairs that came down to the Food Court. It was an impressive place, Bruce knew. The Texan with the Stetson and the gaudy green glares was chatting with the Japanese schoolgirl like ladies. Boy, he had missed that one. Either of them, the Texan or the schoolgirl like women would have been interesting to talk to. There could have been so many story combinations there.
Tourists were coming in to the atrium food court all the time. All chairs were occupied and there were some tourists sitting on the performance stage and at the edge of the stairs. It felt so good to be here at the atrium. So what if one day was ruined? Bruce thought. Maybe he could learn from today. He could imagine himself, explaining about how to purchase six dozens of burger buns at Delaware. He could also maybe ask someone to watch his place while he could go to the restroom, and, and, and, Bruce thought gleefully, he could not return. He could go back to work and think about those, who could they be? Perhaps they could be a very large Greek family, from a rich vineyard perhaps, and they could be, like twenty of them, watching out for his chair, and waiting. Ha Ha Ha to you two, he thought. That would be good revenge.
Power, that was real power, thought Bruce, eating his prawns fried rice. Power was not having to say sorry to anyone. Was that being crafty? He was practically dancing inside his head now. He cautiously looked at the old lady. She was busy eating the giant burger, and she was almost through with it. She was enjoying the burger, most obviously. Suddenly, she put it down, reached into her handbag, and took out an i-phone. Wow. Double wow. This old lady had an i-phone? Bruce did not even have any of the new phones. He had an old Nokia, almost five years old, kept together with rubberbands, and not even a colour screen.
Indian woman, below the poverty line, living almost in the open, with cellphone.
The old lady was zipping through fast with the screen, and tapping something and there, she was done. She returned the phone to her handbag. The old man was back, and he was saying, "So, Mrs. Naidu is safe, Sir. Thank you. Who was it? Ashwin? Did you sms him? He is always very concerned about us, our son. I cannot sms on the i-phone. These new phones are terrible. Too many things to learn. I like the old ones. I only have last year's Blackberry. I can't use the i-phone still. My daughter-in-law taught Mrs. Naidu. They are smart."
Blackberry? i-phone? They did not even perhaps sell such stuff at the shops at the Old Post Office. Did anyone sell these phones near the Mall? Perhaps at the Union Station or at the Pentagon Mall. He did not even know where to buy these in the vicinity. Bruce was very upset. Did all Indians do software programming and stuff? Did all Indians and their parents get to use the latest in electronics? This was not fair. The old lady was explaining to her husband, "I sent reply SMS. I wanted to send MMS with photo of you and the London taxi driver, but you were not here. Can you talk to him and I will take photo, and I will make it into MMS and send. Maybe also Facebook from my i-phone?"
Facebook? These two wanted to put him on their Facebook page? Bruce did not have a Facebook page. The Information Technology expert at this office had told him that it was evil and that he should not get on to it from his office computer. He had given a lecture that all sorts of evil knowledge, bad viruses and wrong friends would come into his computer. Someone had questioned that there were good anti-virus stuff available and thats what the rest of the world had been doing. The IT expert had replied that their indent for purchase of the latest anti-virus software on a yearly basis had been turned down by the audit guys and the finance policy guys. They had said that anything purchased should be used for five years.
"If you are not on Facebook, you have no face to hide in any book." - Anonymous
The Japanese girl, who was his colleague, on deputation from Okayama, had sniggered quietly at the discussion, but had not interfered or interrupted the discussion. There was a Korean resident in the US, now a citizen, who had kept on arguing. Nobody else had argued. The Korean was insisting that the IT expert was outdated and did not know how the world was going about, and moving ahead, and the internet in their office was nearly ten years old. Nobody had bothered. They knew that the Korean would only complain to show that he knew more about computers. Nobody bought Korean computers anyway in the US.
Now, these two old Indians from somewhere, wanted to take his photograph with them, make it something SMM or MMS or something, and do what? He had not understood anything about their proposal. The old lady was all excited about the prospect of putting Bruce on her Facebook page. Would that not be dangerous, thought Bruce. Maybe some Russian KGB types would take his photograph and include it in some other dossier and send it back to the US. They had been warned that such things happen on the net. Maybe these two Indians were actually from the Russian KGB. No. That could not be. He had invited them. Maybe the intelligence community knew that they could expect him to invite somebody.
He was being pushed into some corner of his own mind. Usually he had a good lunch hour, coming to the food court at the atrium in the Old Post Office and escaping from his daily routine. Bruce and Anne drove at 60 plus in the early dark hours, in near fog conditions from beyond
Many a day did I stand here, waiting, waiting and watching. Its a great place to watch people.
The daily drive, and seated inside his cubicle, facing a wall lined up with filing cabinets, Bruce was always desperate to escape into his lunch hour. He liked to dream, and make up stories and talk to strangers. Every day was different. Every day had a surprise at the Old Post Office. Not like today, however. Once, he had been invited by Arab tourists to accompany them to the sushi café at the Old Post Office. They had felt sad for him that he had never had sushi and that he could not afford it. The Arabs knew everything about sushi, and they were experts at the menu, and had ordered for Bruce. That was real uncooked food, Bruce recollected, and there was nothing wrong with eating uncooked food. So, there!
The old couple from India
The old man from India was saying, “Sir, can we go to Lincoln Memorial, and that something, tall one, yes, Washington Monument
The absolutely splendid view. Looks much more tremendous from flights landing at
Washington National Airport.
Bruce spoke, “Ok. Come on. I will take you to Dollar store and you can wait there comfortably. It is the first shop near the entrance, so I can bring my, what did you call it, I can bring my taxi to the entrance. It is parked behind the National Museum Philippines
Already now, Bruce was in a spin. He could see his ‘taxi’ now. Parked behind the National Museum , near the Oriental or Far East people selling T-shirts from the parking lot, and the other one selling hot dogs. The pillows would look good in the back seat of his non-existent ‘taxi’. Perhaps, he could ask them to also purchase a foot rug. That would make the back seat into a cosy den. Maybe he should actually give them $ 10 and ask them to buy ten different items for the taxi. That would really have them busy at the Dollar store and they would wait there with all that stuff. And he need not come back. He would not come back. $ 10 would be a very small investment to take proper revenge on these two for having ruined his lunch hour at the Old Post Office.
The old man was saying, “We know the Dollar store. We have been shopping there for the past one week. We know almost all the Dollar stores in the DC area. We like them a lot. Each one has a different sale everyday. We come to the Old Post Office, have lunch, here, or at the Mall, if it is sunny. Thank you for your kind courtesy, Sir, and since we are old friends, since 1982, in London Washington DC
The classic Washington DC taxi in front of the US Capitol building.
World Bank? When did the World Bank become a tourist destination? Where was the World Bank? Was it not inside the United Nations in New York American Museum or the National Museum
He would miss the Old Post Office. Three weeks. Perhaps it was a good thing. He could eat at other places and that experience would make him love the Old Post Office that much more. Nothing changed here. He had been eating here for more than twenty years, and the place was the same. Larrys Cookies, Panda Café, Indian Delight, Tower Grill, the Chesapeake India
Bruce smiled at the trap he was in. Actually, it felt comfortable, he thought. He had had his fun at the atrium, and now the sacred spirits of the Old Post Office were having their fun. This place was alive and it had given tremendous pleasure to so many millions of travelers through more than several decades in welcoming them to Washington DC
The food court at the atrium of the Old Post Office. It has not changed much in more than 20 years.
He could see the old couple from India US US US President for more times in a day than the number of actual meetings that the US
Several visitors have included their photographs of the Old Post Office here.
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