Win sum dim sum

Eating alien babies. Dorothy liked the Chinese restaurant very much. The buzzing conversations, the carefully contrived atmosphere of oriental chic. Plus, there’s that waiter that looks like Christian Bale. But she always thought that doing dim sum was like eating alien babies. Cute little monsters that sliver down your throat.

‘My life is effectively over.’ Millie fishes for martian shrimp and is having somewhat of a quarter-life crisis. ‘Today I had a job interview. I think they googled me and found the party pictures my ex-boyfriend posted on Facebook, because they had this disgusted look on their faces. It could have been arrogance, I’m not sure.

There was this woman, I swear, with the characteristics of a sweatshop manager. She asked me what music I liked to listen to and I just panicked.’ Dorothy, gently, ‘What did you you say?’ ‘Coldplay. Even though I hate Coldplay.’ ‘No worries. Coldplay is like Switzerland. Neutral. Everybody likes Coldplay.’ ‘I don’t! I lied. In my interview. About music. I hate myself.’ ‘You wanted the job, right?’ ‘Right.’ ‘So what are your chances for survival?’ Dorothy bites into something that could have grown into a ruler of mankind. Tastes like tuna. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘If you don’t get the job.’ ‘I will hate myself.’ ‘Because this means your digital reputation might ruin your professional life?’ ‘Yes.’

‘Okay. I will take care of the facebook pictures.’ Dorothy pulls out her palmtop and opens her tasklist. Millie‘s pupils expand across brainy brown white marbles. A gratuitous smile transforms into a heartfelt sensation of relief. ‘What I want you to do is just for a moment keep your eyes closed.’ Millie closes her eyes but shifts in her skin. ‘I still see the pictures. That bitch is holding them right in front of me. Fucking Coldplay playing in the background.’

Calibrating to the tone of her skin and muscle-twitches, Dorothy waits for the emotions to come full circle and locks in to the loop. ‘Open your eyes.’ Millie opens her eyes. Stares. In trance. ‘Take this and as you can, project it onto different objects and places in the restaurant. Starting with the hunky waiter.’ Millie’s eyes dart around the room. Bamboo. Waterfall. Ginza fish. Calligraphy. Bad hairdo. People in line. Drinks. ‘Try to keep the pictures in mind and move your eyes more quickly, randomly. That’s right.’

After twenty seconds Millie stops. ‘I can’t see the pictures.’ ‘Keep trying.’ Another five seconds later a smile creeps across Millie’s face. Her eyes come to a rest and close as her breathing slows down. ‘Now, before you open your eyes, imagine that we’re sitting in a restaurant at the end of the universe and we just ordered a serving of delicious little alien babies.’ Millie opens her eyes, looks at her plate and runs from the restaurant screaming. Damn it.