To Go, Please

Some places are bigger on the inside than they appear on the outside. With the Wok, it's just the reverse--the front, facing into a plaza, looks much bigger than the interior, which is built more like a long hallway than a room. Within are three chrome tables with chairs that squeal loudly on the floor when guests sit up, and one spotless black booth with a low wall around it containing a small rock garden decorating whimsically with rows of pine-cones.

To reach the cash register, guests squeeze between one of the chrome chairs and a condiments table. The University, just across the street, has papered over the cork-board over the condiments table with notices for concerts, lectures, and 5K events. It's a pattern that continues on a second cork-board the owners have hung beneath the giant, back-lit menu to the right of the cash register.

Working at the register is a woman who looks to be of Korean descent, in heavy makeup. She greets guests immediately as the approach the counter, though she appears a little distracted as she takes orders.

The guy in front of me appears to be another NMSU student--he is wearing a grey NMSU hoodie and has the far-off, yet energetic expression of a student who has just gotten out of a long day of classes. He begins to order another item on the menu when the woman behind the counter gently gestures at the sign beside the counter advertising the (very generous) student special. He glances at the sign, scratches his head, and changes his order immediately, dropping the price down by a few dollars.

He sits down after paying and pulls out his phone, tapping his fingers on the chrome table.

I approach the counter and can't suppress a smile at the sight behind the counter. The grill is mashed between a divider and the back wall. A short, Korean man with sweat shining on his forehead glances up at me from behind it, then goes back to pushing what smells like stir-fry vegetables around on his work area to cook them evenly.

There is a third worker, one with a shock of brown hair barely restrained under a beanie, squashed between the counter. He seems to be of about college age, and, interestingly, he is also Caucasian. The woman behind the counter and the man at the grill occasionally shout to each other in Korean, though each one also speaks what sounds like fluid English from time to time. When this happens, the boy tucks his head down to his work and keeps his expression blank. He talks and jokes with them easily when they are speaking English, but when they speak Korean, he seems very uncomfortable.

 I ask for the student special and sit down at the booth, admiring the miniature rock garden. As soon as the boy with the grey NMSU hoodie receives his order, he ducks out of the restaurant, whistling quietly to himself. The boy with the beanie brings me my food with a broad smile, then returns quickly behind the counter, polishing the mini-fridge that holds pre-prepared packages of sushi and cans of soda. The man at the grill, the woman at counter, and the boy with the beanie talk pleasantly about different things while they wipe down their workstations with wet cloths.

After a while, the woman who works at the register suddenly ducks behind the counter and stands up with a purse around her shoulder. She tells the boy with the beanie goodbye and scolds him briefly about studying too much.

"Go have some fun, don't do homework all the time," she chides him, then turns and talks to the man behind the grill in a musical-sounding string of Korean. He waves, and she walks out the front door with a final shouted "Have a good day!" to them both.

With her gone, the other two seem to have nothing to talk about, and the restaurant becomes uncomfortably quiet.