Tuoi

I eat lunch far too often at a buffet restaurant called Golden Corral, considering that the cost is now over $8 excluding tip. It's not primarily the quality, quantity or variety of food that draws me there. My frequent visits can be explained in one word: Tuoi.

"Hi, Karen. My name it Tuoi; I will be your server today. Thank you, Karen. Thank you, my dear." As soon as I sit down, Tuoi's there to greet me, in more or less exactly those words. Having known me for eight years, Tuoi (rhymes with Dewey) knows I know her name, at least as well as she knows mine. She introduces herself anyway, every single time. It's one of the Golden Corral rules, and she takes those rules seriously, even to the point of absurdity.

It's all part of her commitment to customer service, and Tuoi works harder at that than any other waitress, waiter or server I've ever met. Almost as soon as I sit down, sometimes before, I have two extra plates, an extra Diet Coke, and extra napkins. The napkins are Tuoi's one rebellion against the rules. She's not supposed to give them out until asked for them. Her solution is to pretend she's heard just such a request. "You ask for more napkins!" she informs me, even as she sets three of them on the table by the plates.

Over half of the people in Tuoi's section are her regulars, people who wouldn't think of sitting elsewhere in the restaurant when Tuoi's on the clock. (Celeste is great, too, but Tuoi is unique.) We greet Tuoi by name, call for her if somehow she hasn't already provided us with everything we could possibly want, and joke with her as she offers coffee or a hot dinner roll. Tuoi knows that I have never, ever accepted the coffee, that I hate coffee, but she asks anyway. It's her job to ask, and Tuoi is very, very good at her job. If she isn't bringing us stuff, she's clearing trays, used plates, and whole tables, greeting someone in line as she grabs an extra soda for someone else (or for the same someone), or dashing off to the restroom to do some cleaning there. She knows our names, and what we like to drink, and she notices when we bring along someone she doesn't already know. She's as friendly as she is efficient, and more than once I've bent over to return one of Tuoi's hugs.

It's always been obvious from her accent that Tuoi wasn't born in the U.S., but I've never felt comfortable asking about her background. How rude would that be? I think it was late last year that I learned that Tuoi is from Vietnam. She mentioned the country in passing one day, when she had to leave early for an aunt's funeral. She had trouble getting out the door, because there was always one more plate to clear, one more family arriving or leaving, and one more regular asking about the funeral. Regulars also ask after her husband. He's had a few health problems over the  past year, but Tuoi tells us he's doing better now.

Two weeks ago, Tuoi proudly announced to her regulars that she had become a grandmother, and was looking forward to seeing the baby.  We asked about the baby the next day, and were told that he didn't breathe on his own at first. He got better, though. Tuoi is delighted with her grandbaby. Yesterday, she proudly showed pictures of Cole to her regulars. "Tell me when to stop," she said, but I looked at every photo. 

Baby Cole is home now, and his grandmother visits him every night. "I get off work, I go home and pay to God and Buddha, and then I go see the baby," Tuoi told me. Cole's family only lives three minutes away. Tuoi is grateful for that. If her other set of kids had a baby, trips to the Ina Road area would be much less convenient for her. "I don't see how I could visit more than once a week," she told me.

I have no idea how long Tuoi has been in the U.S., whether she came over as a child or a young bride, before or after Saigon fell. The baby pictures show no trace of Asian features, just a fat, healthy baby. There are many questions I'd like to ask Tuoi, about why she came to the U.S. and when, what her childhood was like, how she met her husband, and how her life in the U.S. compares to the life she expected. I bet her story would be a fascinating one. I can't ask any of these questions. I don't want to put her on the spot, assuming a level of intimacy to which I'm not entitled.

I'm just one of her regulars.
 
Karen