Since becoming anaemic, I get cold quite easily, so I had wrapped a bright paisley scarf around my head and neck like a babushka. I was also wearing my heavy winter coat. I had ordered and was paying, when a sweet young thing and her teenage beau entered the restaurant.
She was saying her girlfriend had recommended the place. The guy, looking at the menu posted up, complained there were no (expletive) beef dishes on the menu, and demanded to know where the beef was. The girl asked him what he thought he'd order. He said he didn't (expletive) know, and couldn't order anyway until the rag-headed burqa bitch moved her fat ass out of the way.
I sloooowly turned around, and said in my best schoolteacher voice of scorn, "It isn't a burqa. It's a parka. I'm wearing a scarf, and am about as white-bread a person as you'll ever find in an ethnic restaurant. Indian Hindus don't eat or serve beef for the same reasons Jewish people don't eat pork. If you're looking for "The Beef," you can find it down the road at Wendy's."
Somewhat to my surprise, the kid didn't say anything back to me. I got my change, and sat down and waited for my order to be prepared. The girl ordered (the guy didn't) and they waited in a different part of the dining room.
And, when I got my order, I discovered to my pleasure that my Mango Lassi had been upgraded to the largest size.