I'm a Pair of Disposable Chopsticks Waiting for You at a Japanese Restaurant

Monica Wang

I wake up. Someone is dragging my bed, this plastic bin where I bunked with my fellow chopsticks last night, onto the front counter. I can't wait to get my very own paper napkin next to your plate.

I head behind the counter. The tables are still damp, anyway; I’d rather stay as dry as rice. Shh—do you hear the radio? It means we're OPEN. The radio repeats six songs, or hits, throughout the day, and I've learnt them all by heart since I got here. Whenever she hears those hits, the oldest server gets this strange look on her face, the same look prawns get after they're deep-fried and before their heads are pulled off to garnish sashimi combos.

Here's the first white guy of the day to say “hai” and “arigatou gozaimasu” to his server. After a while she tells him, smiling, she's not Japanese.

“Well, you're tottemo kirei. It means very beautiful,” he says. He asks where she's from and tells her about the Asian countries he's visited. He sounds smart. Being slightly more absorbent than wood, I just love soaking up his wisdom—and he seems to love sharing it. It's hard to listen when my binmates keep jostling me as they head out, though. Lunch rush has started, yet somehow I'm still here. 

At least it's tottemo roomy now.

Sayounara, Arigatou Guy. He finishes talking to the servers. He presses his palms together and bows from the waist. He says he'll be back soon. I wish I could hear him talk again (who wouldn't?) but I'll likely be on my own adventure by then. Maybe I'll visit an apartment. Or the landfill. All these place names sound so beautiful, so exotic.

At last! I slide into a plastic takeaway bag. No, wait—the server and I are interrupted, mid-slide, by a middle-aged woman.

“Waaaitress! The ladies' room needs cleaning.”

She's so helpful she hovers over the front counter while the server finishes up with other people, then goes back into the bathroom to teach the server how to clean properly.

Someone wearing a blazer and a lot of necklaces is saying, “I ordered a California roll and a cucumber roll, not a California roll and an avocado roll. But don't worry about it. Don't take it back. No. I'm not tipping you though, okay? I'm being honest so you don't look forward to a tip.” 

The server with fried prawn eyes smiles and nods. “All right, thank you,” she says. “Sorry again.” 

Everyone here is so polite, customer and server alike, I love it.

With lunch rush over, I sit by Newest Server silently and companionably as she eats. Staff lunch today is spicy Korean vegetables on rice. And for her, a bonus: the futo maki from an order she messed up. If I were Newest Server, I'd make a thousand mistakes for lunch. But perhaps she doesn't like Boss shouting about things being de-duck-dead from her ours. 

No one else sees Thin Man coming in. Boss calls him Youngest Server's friend, although Youngest Server says he's only a guy she's had one class with in uni. She says she doesn't like how he keeps coming here and waiting for her shift to end. Thin Man likes the complimentary green tea—it's all I've seen him order.

Boss sees Thin Man and talks to himself out loud about how it's the largest table at the restaurant, meant to seat twelve. He tells Youngest Server to leave a teapot for Thin Man today so the servers won’t have to keep going over for refills.

I wake up again—did I doze off at work?—to Boss asking Youngest Server if her friend is planning to order anything. Her face turns a different color. She talks to Thin Man. Thin Man orders one California roll. Boss laughs. I guess he really likes making California rolls.

The server with the fried prawn eyes goes out the front door so quickly she doesn't get One Last Thing to do. I admire the burst of energy she has after a long day of work. Boss hands out One Last Things as generously as Server Who's Worked Here Longest hands out paper napkins. She's—

I—sorry, I'm just distracted by the older gentleman touching Youngest Server's hands. His friends don't comment on it, so I guess it's not weird? Youngest Server's getting their food. Now she's returning to their table. Now she's spilling hot soup from the older gentleman's udon on him. 

After the older gentleman and his friends leave, the servers huddle over the receipt. I can't hear what they're saying about tipps.

I'm trying to take another nap, but the servers are arguing over bathroom cleaning. Looks like Boss doesn't split (tasks) as well as we chopsticks do. 

While I snap my fingers—prongs—at my own joke, the server who doesn't have bathroom cleaning duties empties a box of chopsticks into my bin. Chopsticks I've never met before blind me with their pristine paper sleeves, as clean and smooth as mine once was. I try not to cry.

Two people burst in, their faces hidden by motorcycle helmets. Thrilling! Server Who's Worked Here Longest does not look thrilled.

“Sorry,” she says, “we're closing in 15 minutes.” 

They take off their helmets. The white person with yellow dreadlocks says, “Hello.” Their partner says, “No worries, we're just getting takeout.” 

Boss leans out of the kitchen. “Welcome.” He moves his eyebrows at Server Who's Worked Here Longest. “Take their order. Give them tea.” 

He's so welcoming, both customers decide to use the freshly cleaned bathrooms.

Everyone's left now, and the newcomer chopsticks and I lie under the counter. Good night, restaurant. Good night, OPEN sign that no one switched off. See you soon, customer of my destiny—I wonder if you'll ask the servers where they're from.