Omigawd, sushi!

So I get home this evening and my wife sez, "You know what you can get me?"

"What's that?"

"Sushi!"

Okay, I think. But we have a problem. Our two favorite sushi restaurants are closed on Monday, so I have to think about where to go. It's pretty easy in Portland to find adequate sushi, but if you're picky, your choices are more limited. We kick it around and decide on a place that happens to be a bit of a drive. No biggie, though. Good sushi is worth it.

From our usual spots I would order ahead by phone, but at an unfamiliar restaurant, with me speaking no Japanese, I decide it's safer to go order in person. It will take a little longer, but I want to make sure I get what we like bestest of all.

Well, a couple of things turn out to be working against me. It happened to hit 104°F. today here in the City of Roses, land of not many air conditioners, so everyone and her brother doesn't want to cook. A meaningful proportion of those also want sushi. The problem is exacerbated by two of the best sushi restaurants around being closed on Monday. So I arrive to Sushi Chaos.

First there's a fifteen minute wait until I can find someone to take my order. Finally, after much arm waving and a few public tears, an overworked waitress appears before me. "Do you want to see a menu?"

"No!" I say, smiling. "The order form is fine." I know what I like, even if I can't pronounce all of it (I can pronounce spicy tuna roll, at least) so I get my order in, and then settle down at the bar to wait. I want a beer but I just get a glass of water because there's beer at home. I have a book with me, so I'm content.

As I'm reading my novel, this guy sitting next to me leans over and says, "Dude, what are you? A chick?"

At first I think he's talking to someone else, but he insists. "Seriously, are you a chick?"

"What are you talking about?" I say. He points to my book. The cover features a cartoony drawing of skinny feminine legs and high heels.

"You're reading a chick book. Are you a chick?" He starts laughing, and nudges the guy next to him, who is utterly enthralled with a newspaper and pays no attention.

I notice that most of his giant Japanese beer bottle is, in fact, empty, which I presume is the source of his brazenness. "It's a murder mystery," I say. "A pretty good one."

"Looks like something a chick would read."

How interesting. After all the talk over the last week about women and thrillers and who reads them and who votes for them and stuff, I find myself confronted, in lieu of sushi, with blatant drunken mystery novel sexism. I almost burst out laughing.

The good news is his sushi came and he ordered another giant beer and forgot about me. My sushi did not come, though someone else's sushi did come instead. I knew it was someone else's because I'd ordered six rolls and only two were in the bag handed to me.

"Excuse me," I said, "I had six rolls, and edamame."

Turns out my sushi had just walked out the door with someone else, who certainly had to have known what they had wasn't actually theirs, since it was three times as much as they had ordered, and that's not even counting the soybeans. More waiting was in store for me. I was hungry, and I'm sure my wife was hungry, but I'd left my cell phone in my car two blocks away, so I couldn't apprise her of the drama without stepping away from my seat, perhaps to never see my sushi. I waited.

For my trouble, they offered me a drink, on the house. Fat Tire Amber Ale, here I come!

More people squeezed into the restaurant, and more orders got messed up. The air conditioner was clearly getting a work out, and didn't really have the necessary stamina to cope with the onslaught. But I was determined. Not only to read my book, but also to get my sushi.

Mr. Are-You-a-Chick finished his sushi and his second beer while I was waiting and got up to go. But before he left, he turned to me for a parting shot.

"So, is it any good?"

"Hilarious," I told him. "A real page turner."

"Murder, huh," he said.

"Yep. Dead guy right on page two."

He nodded. "Okay, cool." Then he staggered off. I hope he wasn't driving.

Eventually, my order came. They'd forgotten one of the rolls, but they anxiously whipped it up for me, and then I got out of there. Almost two hours after leaving the house!

The good news is the sushi was damn good. I mean, omigawd, sushi! The bad news is current temperature, 9:45 pm, is 94°. Maybe for the Phoenix folks preparing for the onset of Thrillerfest, that's nothing, but for an Oregon boy, . . . omigawd.

(But, . . . sushi!)

---

What I'm reading: May Day by Jess Lourey and Blood Ties by Lori G. Robinson. (I'm an alternator.)

Be sure to check out Brett Battles' post about the Clubhouse today at Killer Year!