CHAPTER 146

2026-04-15

I just wanted a relaxed lunch, but ended up being drawn back into work mode—I'd rather switch to another eatery.

Most of my main jobs and side gigs involve direct service to people—handling crises, relationships, emotions, and physical and mental health. Inevitably, I spend a lot of time hearing about disputes, right and wrong, conflicts and judgments, and matters of joy and sorrow (more sorrow than joy, and even joy is tinged with gray).

My mind runs nonstop all day and can get extremely tense, so after work I seek peace, relaxation, and a bit of happiness.

In Richmond (known as Rich Gate“Fu Gui Men” before the influx of Hong Kong immigrants), there’s a Hong Kong–style café I call “Plenty of Specials.” Every time my wife suggests going there, I hesitate for a moment—she knows why.

The food there is quite good and authentically flavored. It’s known for its Hong Kong–style coffee, milk tea, pineapple buns with butter, and baked egg tarts. The interior reminds me of Sham Shui Po(a low income district in the 1980s)—somewhat cramped. Comfort matters a lot to me, and here, customers often have to share tables with strangers.

The place has some very distinctive features:

(1) At exactly four minutes before noon, the waitresses will “request” that customers hand in their menus and orders immediately, because after 12:00 a different menu takes effect. Their attitude is firm—no mistakes allowed, not even a second’s delay.

As a customer, I can fully sense the owner’s insistence on switching menus on time.

(2) Beyond the cramped space, the café reminds me of scenes from the 2001 Hollywood film A Beautiful Mind—specifically the scientist’s workspace (his garage), covered in sticky notes. Here, the walls, the glass partitions of the booths, and even beneath the tabletops are plastered with slips of paper in different colors and sizes, all densely covered in writing.

Most of these notes describe dishes, prices, freebies, and discount conditions—everything under the sun. The details are so intricate they’re impossible to fully recount: special meal sets for different time slots; free items with purchases over certain amounts; different giveaways at different hours; distinctions among weekdays, weekends, and holidays—the combinations are endless. Time slots are determined by when the order is placed. Seasonal promotions add even more variations—some items can be bought, others given away.

What I remember most is this: there was a set meal priced at $19 that came with one free item. But if you ordered two sets for a total of $42, you would get two free items?! Every time I visit, I fail to figure out the logic behind it.

I studied social work and worked as a social worker. Years of training and experience have seeped into me so deeply that I slip into “work mode” at any moment. Whenever I encounter something or someone that feels off, I instantly turn into a social worker “sniffer dog.” My senses snap into place, constantly gathering information, magnifying discrepancies, searching for clues, identifying behavioral patterns, making preliminary judgments, then accumulating data and evidence, verifying theories, identifying obstacles, defining and labeling issues, setting goals, strategies, and action plans…

Even while eating lunch, my mind keeps racing. From time to time, I find myself observing the boss’s demeanor, trying to “diagnose” him—I automatically become an undercover social worker.

He once took things even further. On one occasion, he added three large notices, one of which was posted next to the restroom. It openly warned staff: the boss kindly provides meals, so please do not secretly throw food away—wasting food and…

What kind of food was he providing? With what kind of attitude? And the staff had to do it “secretly”? It was all so bluntly revealing—almost too revealing.

Yet what puzzles me more is this: the serving staff doesn’t seem to change much. In such a high-strung working environment, employees still stay. Could it be that the boss has some redeeming qualities after all? The more I think about it, the more I feel it’s best to go there less often.