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Ms Dim Sum Waitress

You wake up in a drunken daze. Your body is yearning for deep fried sustenance. Your dirty couch-sleeping mate suggests you go down to Dragon Palace in Northbridge and do some serious damage to some Dim Sum. Your arm doesn’t need to be twisted. After all, you will get a chance to meet up with your beloved Bai Ling. A sexy oriental bird that takes your hungover and poorly pronounced order every weekend.

“Order for youuuuu?” Bai Ling asks while dressed in her usual: black jeans, black singlet, black shoes but with a little yellow bow in her hair. You close one eye to get a better view of the menu, “Coupla serves of the squid tentacles, Shanghai dumplings, radish cake, pork & chive dumplings and ummm 3 jugs ay?” Your voice falters as you ask for the booze. Bai Ling can sense your ill-health and responds accordingly, “you’re always drinking so much!” Her banter is fun, so it kinda makes you smile, but on the other hand, her astute observation about your disgusting lifestyle diminishes that smile. Let’s call it a half smile.

By the time Bai Ling brings over your food, you and the lads are already 2 jugs down and completely forgotten what you ordered. The arrival of each dish sends a Christmas morning-esque shiver up your spine. “Fuck yeh”. Bai Ling dumps the plates on your table and scribbles on the docket that lays on your table: a grim reminder of the ever-growing bill you and your half-drunk dickhead mates are accruing.

Bai Ling walks back to the kitchen and seemingly cuts sick at her work colleagues in a language you will never understand. The downtown Hong Kong ruckus subsides, and Bai Ling appears through the mystery door at the back of the restaurant behind the counter. “More for youuuuu?” You look with your best “I’ve just eaten 2KG of Asian food” sexy face. Needless to say, she isn’t swept off her feet. “So having a good day?” you ask. She stares at you and shrugs her shoulders. Nice one slick, that’s the closest you will ever get to having a conversation with the mysterious Bai Ling.

You pay your bill and have one more crack at banter, “I’ll see you next week hey!” She smiles, turns around and yells some incomprehensible shit at the kitchen staff. You can only assume she is making fun of you. It wouldn’t be a hard task, seeing as 90% of the chilli oil you ordered is on your face and shirt.