As the memories of the four weeks of hell that was Typhoid Fever began to fade along with the motivation and patience to cook dull tasteless food for one, I started venturing out to more eateries again. Namely two pizza/pasta places in the mall adjoining my office building. And I quickly discovered that the bar phenomenon was not a unique occurrence. The second time I went to both of these new places, my waitress remembered my name. And the third time, my order. I know you probably aren't believing this, because if it hadn't happened to me, I'd probably be calling b.s. myself. But, I have theorized, that along with ALWAYS reciting your order immediately after writing down your order, starting with a polite, "May I repeat your order", restaurant staff here must be trained to recall names as part of the server duty. When they return my credit card and receipt, they always say "Thank you Miss Bethany*." This doesn't explain how exactly they remember the names of the probably hundreds of people they encounter each day. But I sleep a little better at night thinking that it's all just part of how things are supposed to work here, and I'm no different than any other diner.
Of course, that doesn't explain the sudden appearance of this sign, in English, outside the entrance of my office building right after I went through a rather traumatic break-up with my now ex-boyfriend.
Random coincidence?
Or is Jakarta playing games with me?
Not so sure.
