No Such Thing As A Free Lunch

For lunch today, I headed to my favorite Indian restaurant in New York. After ten days in France, I was ready for a little bit of spice. Completely relaxed in my t-shirt, cotton pants, and sunglasses I walked a few blocks from my apartment with a smile on my face, preparing myself for a wonderful meal and the beginning of my great, new single life in the city. Little did I know what awaited me in the restaurant...

My waiter was of my "favorite" Indian genre, namely, plump, with hair too long, and an absolutely horrific rather unkempt-looking moustache. Not that I generally pay that much attention to my waiter; it is just that he seemed to be paying a little too much attention to me.

Inevitably one of my waiter's style gurus...

First, he asked if I had been to the restaurant before. I assumed that he asked beacause I was rather specific in my request to know what was on the lunch buffet. I mentioned that I live in the neighborhood and order food in often, as well as occasionally appear in person in the dining room. I figured that would bring me better service, and then dug in to the magnificent meal before me.

A few minutes later, the waiter scuttled by my table, surreptitiously placed a card face down next to my plate, then quickly walked away. I picked up the card, and it was a "free lunch" loyalty card that had already been stamped the maximum number of times. I was confused, but then simply thought he was being kind and rewarding me for my consistent patronage and/or the lack of curd rice on the buffet.

I asked for the bill. He muttered that when "they" brought me the bill I could just hand them the card. I thanked him for the card. He scuttled off again, completely ignoring my request for the bill.

Five minutes later he handed me a small, folded sheet of paper, with only his name and his phone number. "Nisar 917-299-XXXX"

At that point, I did not know what to do. I giggled and hoped that the distinguished looking gentleman sitting next to me (or any of the other patrons, for that matter) had not noticed what was going on.

I asked for the bill again. Nisar insisted that I eat dessert. And so I did, all the time wondering what in the hell I was going to do with the damn card:

Accept the free lunch...

Did Nisar expect me to yield to his desires for a mere price of a lunch, $20? Do I seem that cheap? What kind of lame pick-up technique was that, anyway? Shouldn't he be asking for *my* number? What would Nisar look like 20 lbs. lighter and with a good barber? Could I somehow disguise future delivery orders for curd rice, or would I find a special moustachioed surprise on my doorstep the next time I had a midnight hankering for mustard leaf?

...or refuse the free lunch but keep the card

Would I really want to come back to this restaurant in person? Should I give Nisar my credit card to pay? He would then have my name which is registered in the restaurant computer along with my address and home phone number. Since the moustache caused me to lose my appetite, was there not some justice in my having a free lunch?

In the end, I used the card as payment for my absolutely ruined lunch and the time it will take me to find a new favorite Indian restaurant.