Revenge is a dish best served cold

And having grown up in an era when the rotan reigned supreme aggressive intervention was not ideal

BEING of sane mind and sound body, I was recently going through the online menu of a restaurant.

The tiny screen of my phone and the labyrinthian trail the menu takes you was too much for my patience, so I tapped on the first items that showed — kung pao chicken and teh O ais. The menu asked me to proceed to payment, which I eventually did using the banking system.

This would be quite normal if I was at home in my sarong, millions of other people are doing it, but I was sitting in the said restaurant at a table for one.

“Adik, why can’t I just tell you what I want and then the waiter brings it to me and I eat and then pay, like how the rest of the world do it?” I asked the cashier.

“Why do I have to order and pay online when I’m here in front of you?”

She may have rolled her eyes, I could not tell.

“Sorry uncle, system like that. We don’t accept cash.”

With all that is happening in the world today — like a genocide which we are powerless to stop — the eating out experience is one of the last pleasures we still have.

But lately, that, too, has been eroded by things that happen before you get the food.

I don’t mind the loud table of diners not being embarrassed to share their life stories.

“How was your fishing trip?”

“It was OK only lah. We caught so many fish my freezer is full.”

“How are they going to implement the two-tier fuel price system? Does anyone know?”

“It’ll take more brain power than what Rafizi has at his disposal, I can tell you right now.”

I don’t even mind the surreptitious smokers sitting outside the restaurant, thumbing their noses at the giant mandatory “No Smoking” sign.

No, what I mind in crowded eateries are the free-range children.

The hide-and-seek personal space invaders, who offend my sensitive, introverted soul when they crawl under my table; the iPad Watchers, who have Coco Melon on full volume; and worst of all, the Aisle-Runners.

I get nervous the minute I spot any of these aspiring Eliud Kipchoges coming into a restaurant. They would be the ones always fidgeting and having trouble sitting still. Their eyes light up when they see the narrow space in between the tables. You can practically see the thought flashing through their still-developing brains.

Nice track! Run!

As I identify with being an empath and an incurable pessimist to boot, this wanton running up and down the aisle can be extremely annoying. It forces me to consider intervention, which, as I remember the last time I inserted myself in an argument between the wife and her tailor, could result in serious consequences.

I could take aggressive action — say, hold up my hand — but if a parent counter-attacked and rose to scream at me, do I have the means to match decibels? I could spoil everyone’s dinner.

On the other hand, if I prevent a collision between a fully laden waiter and a small human, surely the other diners would thank me.

Now, of course, I am not naive. I know Malaysian parents of this current generation believe that if you suggest that their children are misbehaving, it will scar their blessed little heads for life. Hell hath no fury like a parent embarrassed.

And having grown up in an era when the rotan reigned supreme, which is probably why I now read Ikea catalogues for fun, aggressive intervention was not ideal.

So, when I try to stop an aisle runner, I’d be gentle. I will put up my hand and said very sweetly: “No, no, sayang, don’t run up and down; it is not safe.”

It’s the mom/dad you will have a problem with.

Such criticism of a child would sometimes elicit the dad reflex, and I may have to put up with the hassle of dealing with a bear.

“He wasn’t going to run into anything,” he’d say. “He’s just running.”

You’re not going to get any help from the Grab food people, the Adik or the smoking people when this happens.

You’re going to be stared at and will have to finish your meal awkwardly when this happens.

And even if you are willing to risk it, do you have the energy to deal with parents?

Life is already stressful enough with this fuel-increasing uncertainty, guilty embezzlers trying to get pardoned and still keep their stolen money, politicians telling you 10 lies before breakfast. Are you ready to take on unruly aisle runners’ parents too?

So go ahead kid, run as much as you want. This uncle will suffer you in silence. Someday you’ll be on your bike speeding down the footpath and scaring the daylights out of some old women. Someone may just put a foot out.