The Waiter From Spitsville!!!

" Do not use that tone with the waiter, chechy" hissed my cousin, rolling his black ringed eyes at me for extra effect. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that you should never mess with a waiter?"

" But the glass is filthy.." I protested indignantly. After all what could an ignorant young bachelor possibly know about the consequences of drinking from glasses stained with dirt and old soap. Holding the glass aloft, I continued to fume "Just look at it. How can anyone drink from it? Even if I am only going to drink wine from it and wine being alcohol would anyway kill the germs, I am still entitled to a sparkling clean glass"

" Hmmmph, and how would you like to have your butter chicken garnished with spittle?"
I stared at my cousin in sheer disbelief. Spittle in the butter chicken??? He had to be kidding me. That could only happened in a pathetic comedy. Not in real life.
But little cousin obviously meant business, for he held my gaze resolutely...And his wicked flashing eyes conjured for me, images of all possible forms of retribution we could suffer at the diabolic hands of our irate waiter....Just because I dared ask for a clean glass to drink my wine in....Well, with a wee bit of attitude and annoyance.
I would have shrugged aside his dire warnings as a joke, if I had not at that precise moment caught sight of the waiter's implacable face. He had just retrieved the offending glass from under my nose and was heading inside to fetch me a replacement. Every cell of his icy form seemed to scream for revenge. For a moment, I could envision the angry waiter spitting gallons of saliva into my butter chicken and every other dish we had ordered. Even worse was the thought of his colleagues and underlings joining in as a token of their solidarity!!!

" Err, do you think we should cancel the butter chicken and ask for kebabs instead?" I asked my cousin, a tad nervously.
" And what makes you think he can't baste the kebabs in spittle before serving it up to you?"
The obvious sarcasm brought me a step closer to a nervous breakdown. All the more so when it suddenly struck me that cousin, having worked in a restaurant during his educational stint abroad, spoke from a position of knowledge and therefore, power.

" Surely, he can't have that much of spittle in him? I mean, won't his mouth run dry after 2 or 3 kebabs?"
" Chechy, he does not have to dip the kebabs in a bowl of saliva you know...just a gentle lick along the sides would suffice......"
A series of violent shudders rocked my weak spine as my sadistic cousin shook with a paroxysm of uncontrollable laughter.The all too graphic description was obviously too much for my poor sensitive nerves. Clearly, drastic action was the order of the evening.

" I am going to order stuffed paranthas. With no curry or kebabs. Not even raita or pickle." I announced smugly " That will teach the spitting waiter and his cronies a lesson!!!"
Cousin merely smiled slyly.
" Why are you smiling? Now don't tell me that he can spit or lick the paranthas...I mean I can see that..and if I even see a smear of fluid on it, I shall give him hell.."

" Chechy, do you know how we used to pay back obnoxious customers? Well, mixing spit into their gravies was the preferred method of getting even. Or even dirt from the nose. But on occasions when we had time, we used to roll/drag the raw dough on the dirty floor and make it super filthy before popping it into the dum...At times, we would play football with the jelly like mass used for desserts before garnishing it with fruits and what not.."

" You horrible monster" I shrieked with feeling for the poor unsuspecting customers who, though obnoxious, had had to ingest such unhygienic food. In the distance, my nemesis with the wine cup shot a startled glance at me and hurried forward to investigate.
As he set the fresh clean goblet in front of me and poured out the wine, I anxiously scanned his face for tell-tale signs of his crime...Over wet lips....A smear of spittle somewhere..A mouth brimming with saliva....Anything!!!
But my scanning was all in vain. Either it was the perfect crime or one which existed only within the realms of imagination!
My stare must have unnerved him, for he solicitously asked me if everything was all right.
"Err, nothing...everything is perfect..And thank you for changing the glass..." I gushed weakly, offering up a ghost of a smile as a peace offering "mmmm...will the food be long in coming? "
" I will check in the kitchen at once...In the mean time, do enjoy your wine" And with a broad smile, he was gone.
My spirits soared...He hadn't even been near the food!!!
I sipped the wine, thanking my lucky stars that the man, unlike my hot-headed cousin, had recovered and seemed quite un-inclined to drain his salivary glands over our dinner. Never again, I promised myself. As I made a mental note to myself to ensure that I had eaten well before a night out on the town so that I would never again be at the mercy of any waiter from spitsville, my cheeky cousin couldn't resist his final quip for the evening "Chechy, you are damn lucky he seemed to be the quiet sorts...But you really should be careful, you know..I mean you will never know what you might end up with on your plate..And by the time you can even guess, it might be too late..So be careful"
Hmmmph, talk about a tempest in a wine goblet!!!







Chechy = Sister
Dum = Indian Oven