White Melon? How about a punch in the crotch?

After dinner yesterday, Levitt and I (at Laura's suggestion) moseyed on over to the "New World Mall" on Flushing's 40th Road and Main Street, site of the defunct Caldor's.

It is very neon on the outside. And totally awesome on the inside. At the basement level is a food court of earthly delights, a pleasure-dome of Asian pabulum running the gamut: Thai food, Hong Kong style dessert, Taiwanese street food, hot pot, Japanese takoyaki, and whole, live lobster with your choice of sauce, rice, and a veg for $12.99.

The place is a Christmas miracle, and I text Laura, "This is the coolest place ever."

To which she responds, "You're so white." What the feezy, neezy?

Levitt wanted the bubble tea, so we end up queuing at Kung Fu Tea, where one of the offerings is "White Melon Tea." I forget to ax the cashier girl what it is before I place my order (passion fruit green tea), but then do so when she's handing us our drinks.



"What's white melon?" I ask, politely.

She sneers back at me, "You don't know what white melon is?"

Um, no, because then I wouldn't have to ask you? Do you know what a punch in the crotch is? Or should I drag you over the counter by your ears?

Then she says it in Chinese, "dong1 gua1."

Oh, you mean, winter fucking melon, you fucking cunt.

I want that. Damn this passion fruit.

I'll be back.