I have become one of those nasty old guys.

No, really, I have.

Lunchtime one weekend, wandered out of the house, went to the noodle shop, to have some noodles. I'm a simple man.

Now, before I tell you the rest of the story, you should know that I'm normally polite. Very polite. Almost apologetically so. I was brought up right, you see. If you've met me, you'll know.

I'm a brown man of indeterminate Asian origins (Straits-born Chinese and Ceylonese/Sri Lankan Tamil, if you're wondering) who is absolutely big enough to block out the sun when he looms over you but is also the biggest wimp you've ever met.

No, really. Look at me sternly and I'll cry.

But I have recently become intolerant of stupidity. Which is a bad thing, I know, considering how much of it there is out there now.

So when I said to the lady at the noodle shop "one medium dry meatball noodles, extra chilli" and she said "one medium dry meatball noodles extra chilli takeaway", I could have just let it go, corrected her, quietly.

BECAUSE WHY WOULD SHE SAY "TAKEAWAY" WHEN I DIDN'T SAY THAT?

(And she wasn't asking, if that's what you're thinking. I know what asking sounds like. The voice goes up at the end. That's how you tell.)

She was definitely saying it.

She was saying it definitely.

As though she'd decided for me that I wasn't going to sit down in the noodle shop to eat my delicious, very spicy medium dry meatball noodles, but instead would take them away with me in a round plastic box and a pair of disposable wooden chopsticks.

There was a brief moment where a range of possible answers flashed before my eyes, like a dropdown menu in a video game.

But since I am hateful and horrible (and FUCKING fifty-four with absolutely no energy for this kind of shit) I looked her right in the eye and stopped every molecule in my body from moving (except for the ones in my mouth and lips) and said, clearly and slowly:

"Did I say takeaway?" (I leaned on "say" a little bit - not enough that it would be obvious that I had emphasising it, but definitely enough that it wasn't like all the other words in the sentence.

And yes, my voice went up at the end of "takeaway".

Then I stopped.

To her credit, the noodle shop lady stopped peering at the cash register.

She turned slightly to look at me over her glasses. That’s normally a power move, except that I‘m taller so she had to look up anyway.

She seemed a little perplexed, and then said “No?”

Why was that a question, lady?

I smiled at her like she’d just offered to give me free food and said, loudly and cheerfully, “Sorry!”

Then she said, slowly, “Eat here?” (Which is a Singaporean equivalent to “dine in”.)

“Eat here!” I said, with the same big smile plastered on my face.

Gotta make sure she doesn’t spit in my noodles.

She turned to tell her husband (who was making the noodles in the back of the shop), and he looked up, recognised me, and nodded a greeting. I might have seen a glint in his eye. I’m not sure.

The rest of the conversation proceeded with her repeating everything I said, in a voice that sounded like she was unsure about reality itself.

I kept smiling. Mostly so I wouldn’t shank her with a spoon.

“Payment?”

“Cash,” I said.

“Cash?”

“Cash,” I said. Still smiling.

“Ten fifty.”

“Twelve dollars here”, I said, handing her a ten and a two.

“Twelve dollars?”

“Twelve.”

You get the idea.

My food was ready just as she was handing me my change, so I dropped the two coins on the tray and went to look for a free table.

I'm glad I said something. Otherwise I'd have had to take my food away, or sit down and eat out of a plastic box, or ask them to re-plate everything (to their annoyance, I imagine) … because she decided on her own that I said takeaway.