Read The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) for Free Online Page A

drying laundry, and as gardens, smoker’s areas, workshops and informal room extensions. On the escalator I get to watch an ever-changing tableau of Hong Kong life. It’s light and airy to ride, but a bit dark and claustrophobic here in its shadow.
    Rock-talking Rachel is still going on about the evils of bank employment. ‘I worked in reception,’ she says. ‘It was grueling. I never had a minute to myself. The staff, the bankers, they were all rude. Like it was my fault when they forgot their passes. And the visitors were totally unappreciative. I was at rock bottom. And then I met Neil.’
    ‘Who’s Neil?’ Why isn’t she sipping her tea? It’s like she wants this conversation to continue. Clearly we can’t be friends. The giggles alone would force me to strangle her.
    ‘He’s my guru. He showed me the path to enlightenment. I’ll be eternally grateful to him. Eternally. In all my lives. So now I can help people forever. It’s so liberating to recognize your calling and know exactly what you’re meant to do with your life. Like Mother Teresa,’ she says earnestly, her fish-eyes popping again. ‘You could use a session, you know. Your aura’s very dirty.’
    ‘My aura is fine, thanks.’
    ‘No it’s not. It’s awfully dark blue.’
    ‘Is that bad?’
    ‘It’s a bit muddy.’
    ‘Thanks anyway. Listen, Rachel, I’ve got to run to lunch now. I’ve got a reservation. Nice to meet you, and good luck with the apartment. Who knows, maybe we’ll see each other again. If the cosmos wants it… M goi, and baaibaai ,’ I say, carefully trying out my very first polite Cantonese phrases in public. I resist the urge to flash her the peace sign as I bolt for the exit.
    ‘You’re welcome and,’ she says, waving baaibaai . ‘Bye!’
    Half an hour later in the restaurant I’m still contemplating that weird experience. I’m all for alternative medicine, but I don’t see myself getting my aura vacuumed by the crystal whisperer. Especially when I’ve had eyebrow shaping that’s lasted longer than she’s been playing psychic geologist. And a guru called Neil? He’s not even authentic enough to have a proper swami name. That’s Marketing 101, Neil.
    Goodness, listen to me, talking like I’m afraid they’ll knock my chi off-kilter. Do I believe in all that? I guess I do, at least a bit. There’s definitely good and bad energy. Haven’t we all gravitated towards some people and been repelled by others? My muddy aura is definitely putting the waiters off in the restaurant. They’re avoiding me like I’m that uncle at the family picnic who always wants a hug. Every time I catch someone’s eye and smile to get his attention, he smiles back. Then he walks away. It’s getting ridiculous. The other patrons are being served. I want dim sum, not a bone marrow donation.
    ‘Excuse me. I’m ready to order.’ The waiter, smiling, approaches. He looks confused, gently snatching what looks like a survey from the table’s corner. ‘No order?’
    ‘Yes, order.’
    He’s scanning the paper. ‘No order.’
    I knew it. I’ve missed lunch. ‘Can’t I order?’
    ‘Yes, order.’ He sets the survey on the table.
    ‘Thanks. Can I have a menu?’
    ‘Menu.’ He’s pointing to the survey. It’s not a survey. It’s the menu, with some words in English, written on a wonkily photocopied sheet of paper. ‘Hmm, do the pork buns have scallions in them?’ He doesn’t answer. ‘Okay. I’ll have those, and the… are these prawns big or small? Could the chef…? No, okay, then these please, and this one and, is this the chicken…?’ I really want to know if they are the little steamed chicken and prawn dumplings like I get in New York, but given that the waiter isn’t even pretending to smile any more, I won’t continue my line of questioning. ‘And this one, please.’
    ‘You write.’ He’s gesturing at the paper again.
    ‘I write what?’
    ‘Write order.’ He hands me a pen.
    He has completely