One Pacific Away

3 || Elissa

Nothing is more boring than filing paperwork for four hours straight.

Nothing.

So the second my shift ends, I jump out of my swiveling office chair, grab my purse out of my backpack, and make a mad dash for my car. As I run, I pat my pockets for my wallet and phone. They're there. Good.

I'm so glad to be out of there that I throw a victory fist pump in the air as I jump the last two steps of the stairs. The security guard raises her eyebrows. "Excited much?"

"Oh, hell yeah. You have no idea."

"Filing duty again?"

"How'd you guess?" I call as I practically vault over the barrier, the lanyard barely brushing the sensor and letting me through. "See you in an hour! I'm going to treat myself to some ramen for lunch!"

"Wow, lucky you! Man, I wish I could do that." She sighs. "I'm going to be here until like, what, three?"

"Damn. Hey, look on the bright side— at least you'll have time to beat level 1,034 of Candy Crush."*¹

"True. Have a good lunch," the security guard calls.

"Thanks!" I reach my car, unlock it, and toss my purse . As I jam my keys into the ignition with one hand, I close the door with the other. My car grumbles to life, like me when I wake up an hour earlier than I want to.

I start to pull away from the curb when I see who else but Kirsty Theodore coming out of the building for her lunch. Half an hour longer than everyone else because of her "privileges".*²

So I give her the absolutely free gift of the middle finger. She doesn't notice. I kind of wish she did, just to give me the satisfaction of knowing that I got under her skin.

My car and I fly past office buildings, cafes, apartment complexes, more office buildings. I make a right after three blocks and head down for another two blocks. All the way to Ramen Tetsuya.

Open until as late as 11 PM. Hands-down the best ramen place in LA County. And where I go for lunch every now and then.

I park my car on the side, then get out with my purse and keys. A gust of Santa Ana wind hits me in the face as I walk towards the restaurant door. Great. Now my hair's even more messy than it usually is.

Whatever. It's not like anyone else will care.

I step inside, then sniff deeply as the mouthwatering aromas of spicy ramen broth and chicken karaage hit my nose. See, this is why I said that Ramen Tetsuya is the best in LA County.

A waiter comes up. "Just you?" He asks politely.

"Yes."

"We don't have any tables right now, so would you mind sitting at the bar?"

"No, I don't mind."

"Okay. Take any seat you like," he says, gesturing to the bar.

"Thank you." I take a seat in the corner, near the wall. The walls of Ramen Tetsuya are painted with broad brush swipes of color— neon green, road work orange, bioluminescent blue. All of it will glow under black lights from 8 PM to closing time.

My phone buzzes. I pull it out, my headphone jack charm (a star-shaped bell) jingling under the air conditioning. The screen lights up.

A text from Honey Rhodes. My good friend and fellow singer in the SoCal Opera. The first time we met, at the training before this season, she introduced herself with a strong handshake: "Honey Rhodes. Soprano, black, and a lesbian legend." She had exuded such confidence and friendliness in her introduction that I just had to become her friend on the spot. It was virtually impossible not to.

Honey R: Hey! First rehearsal of the season starts todayyy! Excited?

Hell yeah! I reply, watching the palm trees outside sway with the wind.

Honey R: A little bird told me that they're going to give us the score for the last show of the season. You know, in the spring? Our class is in the pool for casting!

Oh. My. God. I almost let loose a loud, demented squeal in the middle of the restaurant. Are you serious???

Honey R: Yes!

My thumbs fly across the keyboard. Can't wait! See you later!

Honey R: See you! <3

I put down my phone as the waiter comes back. "What would you like to order?"

"Oh, I think I'll try something new this time. Shio ramen with chashu. Extra bamboo shoots, please."*³

"You've been here before, I see." He laughs a little and writes down my order in shorthand. I wish that I could read and write shorthand— it would save me so much time on conference notes. "Any drinks with that?"

"Oh, just an iced water. Thank you!"

"My pleasure," the waiter says, and heads off towards the kitchen.

I kill time staring absentmindedly out the window, watching the people outside go by. I make up scenarios for a gorgeous Hispanic woman wearing a sharp off-white pantsuit, a young-looking guy with tousled, boyish hair, and an elderly couple entering a used book store across the street.*⁴ People-watching is a highly under-rated activity. It's kind of relaxing to watch other people and wonder what they're doing, or what they're thinking.

I'm snapped out of my space-out when I hear the waiter say, "Your food, Miss."

I turn around to see the most delicious-looking bowl of ramen noodles— with extra bamboo shoots, as promised— that I've ever seen in my life. "Oh my gosh, thank you. This looks so, so good." I can't help but gush. It just looks that good.

"My pleasure. Enjoy your meal," he says, smiling. Super, super polite. He walks away towards another table, probably to take a check.

I roll some noodles onto my chopsticks and take a bite. Oh my God. Heaven on Earth. This so makes up for the fact that Kirsty Theodore tortured me with filing duty again. At this rate, I'm going to need ramen like this every day. Not exactly the most money-smart decision on my part. Maybe not.

I end up finishing the entire bowl, extra bamboo shoots and all. Usually I can't even finish half, but today has been especially mind-numbing so far. I check the time. Ten minutes to get back to work. I can't afford to be late again. Yet another thing I can't afford to do.

I sigh, knowing that I can't even afford to relieve my own headaches.

* * *

*1: We all have our own personal thing that we like to indulge in. Some people watch K-dramas. Others go out to have a good ol' Martini. The security guard likes playing match-3 games.

*2: Her privileges also include getting out twenty minutes earlier than everyone else, unofficially bossing everyone around, and sleeping with the boss every night. Or should I say, sleeping with Ryan every night.

*3: A clear-brothed ramen. Chashu is just shredded (sometimes marinated) pork. And a tiny tribute to how my family likes ramen— with extra bamboo shoots.

*4: You can find so, so many treasures in used book stores. I once found a like-new copy of Crazy Rich Asians, selling for 50 cents at a library used book store.

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