“Pho combination please.” I said.

“Ahhhh… of course,” she replied with a thick Vietnamese accent. “You happy?”

Bit of a strange question, I thought. “Yeah I’m happy.” I replied. “Are you?”

“I work here.” She said with a smile.

“Oh. I guess you’re happy then.” I smiled back.

She gave me an odd look. “No I work here. You happy?”

Now I was really confused. What did happiness have anything to do with this meal? Was this a cosmic sign reminding me to meditate? Some divine mental health intervention in the form of this Vietnamese aunt?

“She means to ask you having here?” another voice interjected. I looked up to see a younger caucasian waiter. “Or do you want takeaway?”

“Oh right. Yes, have here please.” I replied, face flushed.

I guess she didn’t care if I was happy after all.