Pick-A-Stick
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re still in Taipei, eating all the dumplings. Several of you asked, so an update: one week after the outdoor mask mandate ended in Taiwan, I’d estimate 90-95 percent of people are still masking outdoors. Of the few who aren’t masking outdoors, more than half seem to be westerners. Make of that what you will.
Pick-A-Stick
We’re staying in a hotel in Taipei; it’s part of a small chain that is part of a bigger chain that will remain nameless. It’s meant to be sort of hip and cool and designer-y, and it is. It’s also fully booked on the weekends. Apparently it’s known around Taipei (or maybe the whole country? I’m not sure) for being pet friendly.
So it’s all hip and cool, and then you walk into the lobby on Saturday evening, during happy hour, and … I told Lee it was like being in a pet store. He said pet stores don’t actually have that many dogs. It’s more like being in a kennel. Except these dogs are all beautifully groomed and perfectly behaved, and many of them have their own strollers.
It’s a phenomenon—dogs in strollers. Is this a thing in the US? They’re everywhere here. The dogs are also very well-dressed, and some are beautifully decorated for Christmas. The dogs, not the strollers.
Anyway—I digress.
The other fun cool thing about this hotel is the secret password. Before our initial arrival in Taiwan three weeks ago, Lee kept reminding me about the secret password (the booking was in my name). Apparently if you say the secret password, you get some sort of treat or gift or surprise? That’s how it’s supposed to work, anyway.
The password changes every month, and some branches of this chain switched over about the time we arrived here. So just to be on the safe side, I memorized the old password and the new one.
Then we had a 40-some-hour journey from Mexico to Taiwan. Of course I forgot all this secret password nonsense at check-in, because I could barely remember my name, never mind how to play a stupid gimmicky game that my husband read about on the InterWebz.
So the next morning, when we were going out to explore Taipei, he reminded me. Here’s how that went.
“Let’s swing by the front desk, so you can tell them the secret password, and also be sure to ask them where we should go to buy a transit pass.”
Me, a couple minutes later at the front desk, all masked up because people actually care about Covid here, and still fuzzy with jet-lag: “So, I have two questions.”
Nice young Taiwanese man, also masked, nods politely, waiting for my questions.
“First, pick-a-stick.”
Nice young man frowns slightly, still waiting for my questions.
I wait for him to jump and down, welcoming me enthusiastically into the special club of people-who-say-pick-a-stick-for-no-apparent-reason.
*awkward silence*
*Lee sidles out the front door of the hotel*—Oh, it’s too late for that, honey. They all know you’re with the crazy lady.
I repeat: Pick-a-stick.
Nice young man, probably trying to figure out how to walk the fine line between insane Western guests and Asian hospitality culture: “I’m sorry, how can I help?”
Me, unable to remember anything else at this point, except that I’ve broken out in a flop sweat and am now up to my elbows in the stupid secret password game: “Pick-a-stick? Oh wait—did it change already? The snuggle is real.”
Yes, I said that out loud to a complete stranger. At this point, dignity has left the building (along with the spouse who put me up to this insanity AND HAS NOW DESERTED ME), and I’m beginning to babble underneath my mask.
“You know, The snuggle is real. Or maybe it’s pick-a-stick. I’m not sure? It’s the secret password. You know? My husband read about it. It’s on the internet. Pick-a-stick? Do you understand?”
He is talking at the same time, and I can’t understand a word he’s saying, because of his mask, or maybe because he is Taiwanese and speaks in a very quiet voice, or because I’m old and apparently a little unhinged, or maybe it’s because I was talking at the same time, so I just keep repeating those two idiotic passwords and sweating.
Finally I stop long enough to hear him say, “Would you like to choose a ball from the machine? You can win something like a glass of wine.”
There’s a giant gum ball machine next to the front desk. This very nice young man has figured out my blabbering and—even though he doesn’t seem to recognize the passwords, to my frustration—he is offering me a chance to play the game.
I don’t even want a glass of wine—there’s plenty of free wine at happy hour (which, I later learned, is when all the well-dressed dogs and their owners gather in the lobby).
“No, that’s okay. Thanks anyway. I’ll just … go now.”
When I got outside, Lee wanted to know if I’d asked about buying a transit pass.
No, dear, I did not: that’s what the internet is for.
Take care,
Lisa
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