The die-hard colonial mentality

JAKARTA (JP): I am beginning to suspect that the Southeast Asian service industry suffers from a long-lasting colonial mentality. In Melbourne, where I live, whenever I go to a European-Australian restaurant, with male or female companions of the Caucasian race, the waiters make sure they address everybody. Of course, "madams" and "sirs" are used liberally, even if in private they probably refer to us as "the old hag", "the dumpy blonde", "the joker with a beer gut" and other such deprecating references.

But that is not the point. The point is, nobody is made to feel that he or she is redundant.

Curiously, this is not always the case if we go to a restaurant serving Southeast Asian cuisine, and more importantly, with a Southeast Asian management. In my case, let us exclude Indonesian restaurants, because the Indonesian community in Melbourne is not so large that we cannot at least identify each other as compatriots. And once we start speaking Indonesian, there is no stopping the gossip flowing. In some circumstances you want to duck for cover instead of wanting to be noticed, when the direction of the gossip begins to swipe too close for comfort.

I find going to other Southeast Asian restaurants with a male Caucasian companion very irritating, to say the least. I might as well be invisible, or better still, not there.

"How are you today, sir?"

"Would you like to see the menu, sir?"

These are uttered with the utmost visible deference to my companion while a menu is peremptorily handed to me.

At times, seeing me quietly rolling my eyes, my Caucasian friend would ask my advice in front of the waiter or in the case of a small restaurant, the proprietor. Some would pull up their socks immediately and promptly register my presence, but not enough to remember to include "madam" when returning to check if everything was up to our, or rather HIS, expectations.

"Would you like some more rice, sir? Some more drinks, maybe?"

I have tried paying for the meal, just to show that I was not a mere shadow, or some urchin my friend had picked up out of pity, with very disappointing results.

After saying "thank you" to me the proprietor's attention would quickly return to the "fair one" with "Have a nice day, sir," or a similar insincere utterance.

How on earth would they expect Caucasians to respect their women if they do not show any respect themselves?

Imagine my astonishment when I went to lunch with a Caucasian female friend in one of the five-star hotels in Jakarta!

The moment we stepped in, smiling faces and solicitous attention were showered on my friend who, admittedly, had injured her foot, hence was on crutches. However, this was done with complete disregard for my presence.

After helping my friend to a comfortable seat, I sat facing her, trying to resume the conversation we had started earlier. Two service personnel appeared at our table, one handing us the menu. We tried to discuss our preferences, but one of them, the more senior one, it appeared, began to give his suggestions. That was well and good, but he only addressed my friend!

He even asked her for her name, so he could address her properly. And from then on, drinks, bread rolls, butter, salt and pepper, the actual meal, came with "Enjoy your meal, Miss Jenny", as if she were eating by herself.

Luckily I had just been given the go-ahead by my editors for another article I had proposed, so I was in a good enough mood not to let the goings-on depress me.

When it was time to go back to work, I asked for the bill. Interestingly, the bill was given to me, maybe because I had asked for it, or more likely, because they thought it was my duty to perform lowly tasks such as paying restaurant bills. Since the amount stated was bigger than what I had in cash, I began to pull out one of my credit cards. My friend stopped me and said, "No Dewi, let me pay."

After a brief mutual protest, we decided to split the bill. We both put money on the tray. And I was interested to see that from that moment on, the waitress who took the money on the tray began to address me. My guess is, she realized that I was with a friend, not with my boss.

When will the psyche of three hundred and fifty years of being colonized begin to fade?

-- Dewi Anggraeni