a tale of two grannies

I remember this little incident many moons ago.

I was waiting for Allan to arrive, in a Chinese fast food store somewhere in the middle of Makati. I had just cracked open a fortune cookie as it drizzled outside, forcing people to go inside, including this literally well-heeled old lady in 3-inch red pumps, white knee-length skirt with big yet light prints, an apple-green blouse and several large pieces of jewelry. She was the stereotypical matrona--the only thing missing was a D.I. at her side. She went up to the counter and pondered the food choices on the well-lit overhead menu.

While she was contemplating the food items, another old lady came inside. She was the complete opposite--worn-out shoes instead of pumps wrapped in plastic bags to keep the rain out; an old blazer, blouse and skirt prolly sourced from the last stocks of the neighborhood ukay-ukay; no jewelry and a plastic bag instead of a stylish bag. Using her still-moist umbrella as a cane, she made her way to the part of the counter where the pitcher and glasses were.

Looking exhausted, she tried to lift the pitcher to pour water into one of the glasses. Seeing that she might drop the pitcher in her attempt, one of the young waiters offered to pour it for her. She gave the waiter the pitcher, and he poured her a glass of water.

Then the rich old lady ordered only a bowl of garlic rice, and garlic rice alone. She fished out a crisp thousand-peso bill from her purse as payment, was given a number, and proceeded to sit at the opposite end of my long table. She didn't glance at me as she sat.

The poor lady thanked the young waiter for his help as she drank up the water, and the young waiter smiled in return. She then ambled out of the store again, probably not having the time nor the money to linger there.

The smell of garlic wafted across the room as the rich lady's garlic rice arrived along with her change. She first picked at the rice with her fork and spoon, then took a small bite.

She then called one of the waiters, and said something to this effect: "You call this garlic rice?! I haven't even tasted any garlic?"

The waiter, surprised by the reaction, returned the rice back to the kitchen. Moments later he reappeared, having persuaded the cook to add more toasted garlic bits on the rice.

At this the rich old lady was satisfied, yet did not show any hint of thanks nor appreciation. Slowly she went back to eating as a stronger smell of garlic enveloped the room.

Around this time Allan arrived, and it's here that my story ends. Looking back, it's not just a story of garlic rice and customer relations. It was a lesson in humility, how we can learn from the meekest of people, and something prolly that our leaders should see or read.