242) Are You Jing?

(Photo from finechinagirl.)

Tonight, a true story that I've been wanting to share.

On Sundays, I've made a habit of eating a late solo lunch at SoHo Park Cafe, a cute eatery on the corner of Prince and Lafayette. I have a favorite table in the corner, wedged up against the exposed brick walls and a window, perfect for people watching. Usually I bring a book with me, but this past Sunday found me sans any sort of company.

Whenever I eat alone, I feel like a certain amount of social grace goes out the window. I'm more likely to tear into my charred chicken sandwich, lick the sauce off my fingers - really relish it.

I was particularly hungry on Sunday, as I was on the sickness mend. After about ten minutes of enjoying my enormously sloppy sandwich, a thirtysomething-year-old guy came up to my table and said, "Excuse me...are you Jing?"

"No, (hands full of sandwich) sorry I'm not..."

"Oh, sorry. I'm meeting someone and I thought you might be her." And walks back to his table across the restaurant.

Then a thought popped into my head - what if I was Jing? This poor guy was sitting over there, watching me devour my sandwich for ten minutes, wondering why his blind date had not only gone ahead and ordered food, but was already eating it. How awkward must he have felt? What rising terror over a potentially doomed date? I suppose he guessed I was Jing because 1) we were the only two people sitting solo, 2) I'm Asian, and 3) because the real Jing must have been running late.

Luckily, the real Jing showed up a few minutes later. They both ordered coffee and sat and talked while I creepily watched from my corner, still laughing, imagining what he would have said if I'd looked up and said, "Yes, I'm Jing."


(Photo from Flickr.)