The cricket came back again last night. I marched outside and spotted it. There it was, my Moby Dick. (Moby Dick was the whale, right? I never read the book, but the kabob place by the same name has a whale for its logo). It wasn't exactly a cricket. It looked like the offspring of a cricket and a roach, if it was zapped by some gigantic juice (Gigantic Juice- not sold in stores). I knew my shoe didn't have much of a chance against this mighty bug. Just then a couple of guys came over because I think my presence was disrupting their work. I told them about ole Moby and they said they'd take care of it. I don't know what they did, but they took care of it.
There are other very loud noises outside my window. There's some Hindi movie theater or festival or something going on all day next door. Five times a day the call to prayers can be heard throughout Mysore coming from the mosque, which just happens to be located behind my hotel. Occasionally, the loud Hindi pop music and the religious Arabic chant overlap.
Whenever the Australian guy and I go for dinner one of us asks for a menu. After the search for the Holy Grail, that's exactly what we get "a" menu. There are two of us, asshole. I guess they take it literally. The other thing that's funny is when someone orders something like Miranda, the waiter always asks, "Do you want it warm or cold?" which leads me to believe that there are people actually requesting warm Miranda. Then they ask if they can open the bottle. Considering it takes a bottle-openner to complete that feat, yes of course, what am I gonna tear off the cap with my teeth?
About an hour ago, a guy bumped into me while we were both walking and then gave me a dirty look. I glared back. Then he emphasized the tire iron he was holding. Him and his buddy walked off laughing. They were quite pleased with themselves. I started cussing them out. I took my hotel keys out of my pocket. These keys are connected to a piece of metal which is ridiculously oversized, but it's not much of a weapon. I was still blindly yelling when I came up right behind the two of them. I guess I was yelling, "Oh, you think it's funny!" It took me a few times to realize the guy with the tire iron actually kept answering me, "No," and his smile had turned to a bit of panic. The two guys walked off quickly into the crowd. So basically I scared off two guys with a tire iron while holding just some keys. I was very pleased. Justice. Vengeance. And I got away with it! When I get back to America, I better remember not to pull that shit.
Sometimes women give me the eye. I'm dripping with sweat, covered in sunscreen that makes my face look greasy, wearing a dirty old t-shirt, coughing heavily, shit running down my leg, and three day-old vomit in my mouth. When I walk by I just think to myself, 'Really? Me? Why?'
I need to sit down with these women and have a talk with them about the concept of standards.
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