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Just ordered a takeaway from a local Japanese restaurant (which shall remain nameless to protect the innocent). It turned up early while I was still on a Facebook call to some friends. The delivery driver left it outside and, somewhat distracted, I brought it in before bidding my friends farewell and turning to my food. Which, when I actually looked at it, seemed to be a quite remarkably large amount; I had my own order but I’d clearly been given someone else’s as well.

I phoned the restaurant and spoke to them; there was a fair amount of puzzlement at the other end and then the very nice and polite lady who’d answered the phone asked me to open up the order and see what was inside. I duly did, and reported. “Something sweet and sour. Some chicken…”. “Are there some noodles, madam?” “Yes, looks like udon noodles.” “And something deep-fried?” “Yes, a carton of deep-fried things.” “Thank you, madam.”

This was the cue for an absolutely ENORMOUS screamy row in Japanese between her and a male co-worker which went on for at least a minute. I have to say, I was impressed. They were clearly using language which would make a docker blush, and she was giving every bit as good as she got in an in-depth investigation of what had gone wrong which apparently went back several generations. It finally ended after she’d comprehensively demolished his great-great-grandfather’s cooking, morals, business sense, drinking habits, organisational abilities and taste in women and there was a palpable pause before she came back on the phone.

Highly professional, extremely polished manner: “Sorry to keep you waiting, madam. Could you put it outside the door for our driver to collect? My apologies for the inconvenience.” “Not at all”. “Thank you for your help, madam”. “My pleasure”. “Have a good evening”. “You too.” I somehow doubt her co-worker was going to have a good evening, though…..

Quite made my night 😄