About Ten Minute ...

"That will be about ... ten minute. Okay?" It was the same response that I've gotten from the local Chinese Restaurant for the past several years. Always about ten minute - never ten minutes (plural), always minute. What has continued to amaze me is the food is prepared in ten minutes, no matter what I ordered. Chicken Fried Rice, ten minute; Crab Rangoon, ten minute; General Tso's Chicken, ten minute. I'm guessing that people in China never have to wait very long for a meal. There is absolutely nothing that they can prepare that takes longer than ten minute (s).

In the past year, however, the owners had decided to retire and passed the operation on to their children. Immediately afterward, I noticed that the carryout service had slowed dramatically. I would call, just as always and the response would be the same, (ten minute), as it had always been. Upon my arrival, though, I now had to wait by the front counter for at least another ten minute before my food was brought out. Like most Chinese joints the majority of the facility is filled with tables, leaving very little room for a checkout counter. Because of this design flaw, the counter is wedged in between the buffet area and the front door, leaving only a small pathway through which to walk when filling your plate or exiting the building. Each time I arrived to find that my food was not ready, I was forced to stand uncomfortably, leaning against the side of the counter and actually excusing myself from the path of customers coming in or leaving. The increased wait time got to be quite a pain.

One particularly busy evening, I finally asked the young lady at the counter why it was that I had to wait so long when they told me "ten minute" on the phone? I had toyed around with it, giving them as much as twenty minutes on occassion, and nevertheless, I've had to stand for another ten minute each time.

She kindly looked at me and responded, "Okay. Ten minute".

Finally the aggrevation had gotten to me. I suspected that they were no longer even preparing the food until I showed up, so I decided to put my theory to the test. On a rather busy Saturday night, I ducked into the store's foyer without alerting the staff and tucked myself in behind a coat rack. From there, I removed my cell phone and called to place an order. I was actually able to watch as the girl answered the phone and wrote down my order in a ticket book at the counter. "Ten minute", came her reply and she hung up.

For the next ten minutes, I watched as the girl rung out several customers and flipped through the pages of a magazine. The ticket book hadn't moved from the counter. Then, after having waited exactly twelve minutes by my watch, I came out from behind the coat rack and walked through the inner door, the little bell tinkling it's warning from above my head. The girl looked up from her magazine and asked "how many?"

"I had a call-in order", I said, eyeing her and looking toward the ticket book.

She smiled and said, "Be just one minute", then turned and walked toward the kitchen taking the ticket book with her. My suspicions proven, I took position along the counter and carefully ducked other patrons who rudely squeezed past me as though I were there to purposely get in their way. I could feel my ears turning red with anger as I thought about the fact that they were purposely making me wait, simply because the girl was too lazy to take my ticket back after my phone call.

A moment later, movement caught my eye near the buffet and I spied a kitchen worker in a white apron filling a container with Chicken Fried Rice from the buffet bar. He then pulled a small, crinkly bag from his pocket and counted out six pieces of Crab Rangoon, carefully adjusting them to fit in the bag before spinning it closed. Another bag appeared, and into it went a rather burned eggroll that appeared to have been passed over by at least a hundred patrons that day. As I watched, I realized that he was filling my order from the buffet. Suddenly the ten minute timeframe made sense. How could I have been so stupid?

A moment later, the girl appeared through the swinging kitchen door with a large paper bag and smiled as she asked if I'd like soy sauce.

"Did they just get that off of the buffet?" I asked in a rather angry tone.

"You want buffet?" She replied

"No. I'm asking if they just got that food from the buffet."

(Smiling) "Okay."

"Why did you wait until I got here to get my food? Why didn't you turn in the ticket when I called?" Now people were beginning to look in my direction.

"I sorry?"

"You waited to turn in my ticket until I arrived, which means that I had to stand here for an extra ten minutes while your cook went and filled my order ... from the buffet!"

"You want buffet instead?"

I finally gave up. The girl didn't understand a word I was saying. She obviously knew only enough of the Queen's English to get her by; Smoking or non-smoking, Buffet or A1, Coca-Cola and a fair knowledge of how to count out American currency. Arguing any further would only have made me to look like an ass, (which though I am, I don't like to advertise it).

Two weeks later, I was standing in line at the local Wal-Mart store, waiting patiently and browsing the headlines of the weirdo gossip magazines. The girl in front of me was chatting on her cell phone to someone as she unloaded her cart onto the conveyer and by her rushed words and high-pitched laughter, I could tell that she was a typical teenager without looking. I tried to mind my own business.

"Oh my God! You know, I heard the same thing last Saturday night! I was talking to Amber and she was telling me all about the ... blah, blah blah"

As she finished her phone conversation and finally unloaded the remaining couple of items, I happened to look up at her face for the first time. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. It was the same girl who worked the counter at the Chinese Restaurant! Speaking better English that I do, at that! I stared for a moment, thinking that surely my eyes were playing tricks on me. Finally, as she was finishing signing the electronic credit card pad, I couldn't stand it any longer ... I simply had to know. I leaned forward, tapped her on the shoulder and as she turned toward me I could see a glint of recognition in her eyes.

"So, how long have you worked at the Chinese Restaurant?" I asked, proud that my cunningness and surprise would catch her off guard.

She looked at me, not with shock or disbelief, but only the same wide smile that I had seen so many times before. Without missing a beat, she replied ...

"About ten minute".

All the best,

WDL