Mustard Man!

There is a small, Chinese restaurant very near to my apartment that goes by the name "Hunan Springs." It's right around the corner, in fact. It's the type of place that I call when utterly out of groceries, sure that my order of cashew-nut-chicken will be both filling and delicious. Ordinarily things go smoothly, with the possible exception that their spotty english makes ordering via phone an adventure at best, and a hellish five minutes of miscommunication at worst (one might contend that, following the unwritten law of cultural restaurants, the degree to which a restaurant can't speak english is inversely proportional and reciprocal to the tastiness of the food). Today, however, things proved different...they proved super.

I had just paid for my meal, and was arming to go back into the cold. Walking out off the restaurant, I turned left to leave by the back alleyway, as is my want. I had only made it about forty paces when I heard a desperate "Sir! Sir!"coming from behind me. Turning, I saw one of the employees of Hunan Spring's running after me, with mustard packets held in his outstretched hands. I knew they were mustard packets because he was yelling "Mustard! Mustard!" at the top of his lungs as he drew near. He was skinny with large glasses, wearing only a t-shirt and was obviously cold. Yet so noble was his character, so firm his belief in his mustard bearing cause that he proceeded completely undaunted. He spoke very little english and simply said "Mustard, right?" when he reached me, placing the packets in my hands. In awe, I stammered a thank you and stared as he ran back to the restaurant.

Clearly, I had just encountered Mustard Man - the superhero empowered beyond normal human means to track down those lacking his precious yellow cargo and supplying them with all the mustard they so desperately need. I knew he was a superhero because of his apparent immunity to the cold, as well as his immediacy in tracking me down (I.E. How did he know I left the parking lot by the back entrance, when the front is so much more likely? Only a super hero could do that!)

It took me a good five minutes to let sink in the bizarreness of what I had just experienced, and to fully appreciate it's impact on my day. It should be noted that I did not even order mustard with my meal, as I don't really like it that much. Today, however, I knew exactly what I had to do: I solemnly removed the somewhat battered packets out of the bag, and in ceremonial fashion spread their golden substance over my chicken in a much earned salute to Mustard-Man's efforts.

Bravo, Mustard Man, Bravo. Your nobility convinced me to eat mustard today, and for that we all owe you thanks.