“Yes, the food is cold.”
Like a power-saving bulb that takes a while to light up, I have only recently realized the similarities of countless conversations I have had since moving to Romania nearly four years ago. Here, in composite form, is one with my Romanian friend Remus.
After Remus complained about politics for the entire 30 minutes on the way to the restaurant, we finally entered.
“Wow, this restaurant is ugly,” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “But it’s better than other places.”
“The room is cold. You can feel the wind.”
“Yes. It’s in an old building.”
“And these chairs are uncomfortable.”
“Yes, but we won’t stay long.”
“Look at this. There is almost nothing I like on the menu.”
“Yes, I agree. I suppose it’s what the owner likes to eat.”
“Now, the one thing I could eat, they say they don’t have.”
“Yes, but that’s ok. Just get something else.”
“The bread is stale.”
“Yes. It was probably fresh this morning.”
“What is this? This is not what I ordered.”
“No? Oh.”
“The food is cold.”
“Yes, it probably sat too long in the back.”
“This waiter is rude.”
“Yes, he’s probably new.”
“We ordered coffee an hour ago.”
“Yes, I know. Oh well, it gives us time to talk.”
“That bill was expensive.”
“Yes, you’re right. But it’s less than some places.”
“I gave him 100 lei. Now he says he doesn’t have change.”
“Yes, you should bring the exact amount.”
“This place is awful.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. Why don’t they fix things?”
“Give them some time. They only opened two years ago.”
“Look at the owner. He doesn’t care.”
“Yes, but his parents were raised in communism.”
“Why do you come here?”
“It’s close to my home.”
“Why don’t you complain?
“What good would that do?”