Duped-y Doo

I’m out, eating dinner, and I pick up a pair of chopsticks with a gorgeous inscription on it.

This Chinese lettering. I’m mesmerized. Calligraphy so immaculate, it feels like the strokes are guiding my eyes, moving them for me. The spacing, the proportion, there’s a story here and it’s speaking to me.

I’ve never had the urge to learn Chinese more. I need to know what it says.

I try scanning with my phone, hoping I’ll get a translation. It doesn’t work.

If I let go of this opportunity, who knows how long I’ll regret it.

These are special utensils. Art, if I can be honest. I haven’t seen these before and I probably won’t again.

I walk up to the manager.

“I’m so sorry to bother you but-”

“Is everything ok with your meal?”

“Huh? Oh, yes yes. It’s great. I just, really like the etched writing on these chopsticks.”

“Oh, you can have them.”

“Oh, no no. Really?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Wow, thank you. I just- I was wondering if you were Chinese.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Can you read Chinese?”

“Yeah, I can read Mandarin.”

“Oh wow, could I ask you to read this for me?”

“Sure, not a problem.”

“Thank you again ma’am.”

“It says”

“…”

“Made in America”