Attention: Hung Won is Not Closing

There was this really old greasy little take-out-only dim sum place on the main commercial street in the neighborhood we live in called Kwong On. You could get these little pork hash dumplings there for 40 cents, U.S. and baked manapua and turnip cake with little shrimps in it and other dumplings with green and gray stuff in them, for some equally appallingly low price. You could get enough food to kill you for three dollars, basically. So they announced that they were closing, and for weeks there was a line out the door. That happens here, for some reason. I don't know why they were closing. Maybe they weren't charging enough. Maybe they were breaking the law by selling something for 40 cents. I mean, it has to be illegal to pass that kind of savings onto the customer!

So they closed.

Also, there is a full sit-down Chinese Restaurant on the same street, called Hung Won. I heard that they were closing also. This, I felt, was too bad, because more restaurants and fewer auto parts stores is always a good thing. Walking by Hung Won, I stepped inside and asked when they were closing.

The Chinese lady at the counter got real mad and threw her hands up in the air. "We're not closing!" she said, in a Chinese accent I will not attempt to transcribe here. "Everybody thinks we are closing! We are not closing!"

"Oh, good," I said. "More restaurants and fewer auto parts--"

"It is KWONG ON! They are the ones that are closing! They have closed already! KWONG ON!"

"I'll spread the word. I'm sure--

"HUNG WON!" she screamed. "KWONG ON! You see; they are different! Quite different! HUNG... WON! KWONG... ON!"

"I--"

"People do not LISTEN!" Howling, she tore her shirt off. She climbed up onto the counter, and slammed her head against the overhanging shelf. Put her foot in a tray of cake noodles, which was inside one of those short cardboard boxes they ship cans of soda in. "PEOPLE ARE DEAF!" Still stooping, she reached up and brought the entire shelf down, releasing a torrent of three or four phone books, followed by a swarm of dozens and dozens of beetles the size of Hot Wheels. They crawled over her bare chest and down her legs and dove into the food, chittering and squeaking with beetle delight. She screamed again, sounding like a cross between a playground whistle and a tugboat. The windows shattered, and three burning men flailed out of the kitchen and tripped over each other trying to get outside. They were screaming. I was screaming. Hot oil spilled out of the kitchen and across the floor. The men fell, igniting the oil.

Anyway, we're going tomorrow night, with my sister and her husband. You guys wanna go? They said it was good.