Mr. Post It and me were trying in vain to carry on a conversation at one remote corner of this nice quiet place. Each time, we reached the most interesting part of a story, the entire resteraunt would erupt into loud Ravan type of laughter accompanied by chuckles, a round of back slapping and twittering womanly noises.
Ugly green dinosaur print man, with big belly and bigger laugh was managing to drown out the conversation on every single table. Silencing him was not an option so we did the Gandhi route of exiting sans violence. Only to bump into the owner. A very good looking world weary kind of a affable mallu man, who he informed us, almost always sneaks out of his resteraunt the moment he sees either one of these enter
A. The luncheon ladies
Come in a pack. Sole agenda to out smart the other. Only ammunition knowledge about the food they are about to eat and declare how it is so not comparable to what they ate in Toorkeey, Spain, and when all else fails say Euuurrroooppeeeee in a long sigh.
Questions asked by them include- what lettuce do u serve, the host often to have fun cooks up a variety on the spot say "Rumanian with slight olive undertones" and watches in satisfaction as lady one squirms, darts a look at lady 2 to see if she knows any better. Hesitates and ponders what shall be an appropriate reaction disgust or gleeful enthusiasm before usually venturing to order a Ceaser salad without pineapples, walnuts, lettuce, dressing, bread or tomatoes.
Spotted by - Frantic use of blackberry. Dropped exactly at the door, general air of immense anger at their lives and having to have to eat this crappy lunch. Mini war zones the battle for the cheque is a treat to watch.
B. Oye Dude, Aur Bata
Ah! These are the ones that drive him out of the resteraunt. They dont care what they eat, how they eat or if there is lettuce or a chickens acidic stomach there.
Arrive in small groups. Make up in volume for low numbers. Ensure they speak more than the other person, before proclaiming how good their life is. Are direct off springs from the Greek Gods and blessed with the Midas touch, evident in how every single thing is always rozy and glowing.
Predominately married, with the wife/bhabhi/Mrs back home. Occasionally the female is permitted a visit to the "outside" world, provided the man orders for her and ticks her posture, eating manners, conversational skills or inability to shush the child audibly or vide the eye movement look
Girl friends are invited instantly on day one. This day almost also never happens
C. The Married People
Married people and By Products.
Dead give aways are
---- the time taken to choose a seat (anything to give them something to talk about for 2 min)
---- silent war about who gets to feed the child
---- puppy dog looks given to the waiter, we are married please please please can u entertain us
---- obsessive silent anal reading of the menu followed by detailed carefully planned family budget order
---- post order adjust chairs to gaze at remaining people and give wistfully wobegone looks to merry ppl.
D. FEMALE DARE DEVIL
FAST WALK. BAG SLAMMED ON TABLE, PHONE AND CAR KEYS DISCARDED. WAITER SIGNALED.
Crew on attention. This is a volcano.
Enforce evacuate mode asap.
step 1- place menu water and leave
step 2- get order and leave
step 3- watch the anger give way to hurt to rejection to first tear drop to weepy nose to sunglassed placed on face
Step 4- place tissue on table and Ruuuuuuuuuu nnnnnnn
Step 5- Watch the phone being retrieved and adoring sms sent
Apparently resteraunt's are favorite post break up/lets break up/shall we think about breaking up/this is a night to discuss are we breaking up/ so will not ever break up etc conversations. Women cry, men drink, the owner takes himself yet again outside!
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