Raita-toueeee

Some time ago, I was eating dinner at an Indian place in a back alley somewhere in Petaling Jaya, Malaysia.

I raised my hand and said to a waiter, “Can I have raita?”

He nodded, and scurried off.

Ten minutes later, I still didn’t have my raita, and I noticed he hadn’t even entered the restaurant storefront or the kitchen in search of any. Instead, he was scurrying around his colleagues, flitting from waiter to waiter, asking for something, they all looked into their pants. I was trying to figure out why he’d think he would ever find any raita (a yoghurt) off another waiter, especially if they were looking into their pockets for some.

Someone next to me picked up a cigarette.

Said waiter came running over, and came skidding to a halt, flicked what he had in his hand, while saying, “Ma’am! (heavy Indian accent, mind) Ma’am, your… RAAAAIIIIIII-TTTEEEEERRR!!!!!” Lighter, raita. Sounds the same, I guess, depending on who says it.