Cantonese restaurant

SATIRE: George Christensen goes after hungry Chinese tourists | The daily leader of the North


It was in the thatched-roof beach restaurant of a Phuket hotel that I witnessed a vile sight that burned my eyes, assaulted my mind and made me vomit in my mouth. They numbered around 30 and entered the restaurant on display, overlooking the majestic Andaman Sea, amidst a cacophony of Cantonese. They were Chinese tourists from the mainland. I was sitting at a small rattan dining table, on a rattan chair, with my lover, Heidi. The only other guests were a middle-aged, conservative German couple and two young, ostensibly gay Frenchmen. The Chinese attacked the breakfast buffet with an aggressiveness that clashed with the tranquil beach setting and equally serene Thai staff. Plates were pushed into water baths, like diggers, to scoop up food. Thailand’s beloved late king, Bhumibol, stared rather sternly from a large gold-framed portrait hanging on the wall. Buddha, in the form of a large golden statue, looked somewhat pensive. wow. You don’t see this every day, I thought. “I don’t know what to make of that,” Heidi whispered. “Don’t worry about that,” I said. “It’s just their culture. They definitely see certain western traits as weird or off-putting.” I looked at my wristwatch. “Now eat. I’ve booked a massage for 9:30.” “What did you say?” Oh fuck. Did I say that out loud? “Motherfucker!” The Germans and the French were watching us. “Calm down,” I told Heidi. “I was kidding. Of course. Ah, come on. Don’t be like that. Sit down. Please.” Heidi passed a man in his forties entering the restaurant. He was all fat in shorts and a red Hawaiian shirt, his neck jowls quivering with jelly. “Step aside, people!” he said. “I’m starving.” Telling the Chinese to split up was doubly problematic: they were unlikely to have understood it, and they were a group of starving Chinese at a buffet. Thus, Moses parting the Red Sea without God’s help would have been more likely. They watched him with detached curiosity, then resumed loading. Unfortunately for the Chinese, their stubbornness was eclipsed when the man mutated into his true self – a most destructive and hideous creature: the pro-mining, climate change denying, anti-vaccination politician – who, in this case, was George Christensen. The poor Chinese plebs didn’t stand a chance: those who didn’t flee in time, or who weren’t safely pushed aside, were trampled on as he ferociously and grotesquely grabbed handfuls of food and stuffed them into his mouth. It was a nauseating one-man feeding frenzy that led him to pick up bain-maries and pour the contents over himself – prompting the German to gabber like mad, the French to flee the restaurant and three of the Thais crying. When Christensen stopped gorging, he stood in the middle of the room like a soldier following an ancient battle. Except instead of blood and gore, it was covered in tomato sauce and food. He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, burped longer and harder than I thought possible, peddled a big, gross ball, leaned back and disgorged like a fire hose . Mark Bode is a journalist at the ACM. He uses satire and fiction in his commentaries.