Indian hell-wife (1 of 2): Young Indian hell-wife.

Like a month ago at the (Thai) restaurant when it was decently busy, I get this phone call to order take-out, and the (Indian-accented) guy has a lot of questions about whether some stir fry dish is spicy, and if so, how spicy is it, and what's in it, and some woman is talking with him and talking over him, and because of what she says, he asks if we can put all the spice on the side (we can't), and then they cross-talk as he tries to order, and I have to be all like, "Pardon me, but there are multiple people talking, and I cannot understand what is being said, could you please repeat the order."

And, he repeated the order, and after all of that, they got the dish the f*cking normal level of spiciness, no modifications necessary.

And, then he says they might order some appetizers, and they begin talking, but it's not clear what's happening, so I repeat the couple items that they'd ordered through that point in time -- we were going on four or five minutes here! -- and so I confirmed what he'd already ordered, and then was like, "Would you like appetizers, yes or no," to which he was briefly quiet, then, was like, "No," and so I read out the total, said it'd be like twenty, twenty-five minutes, and I'd see them soon.

And then, I hustled off to go take care of like the five other things that were happening, that were demanding my attention.

Anyhow, then, like twenty, twenty-five minutes later, there comes in this like (late 40-something) (Indian-looking guy) with glasses and whose belly filled out the lower portion of his sweater, along with this (too beautiful for him) (thin) (drawn-faced) (intense-eyed) (early 40s) (Indian) woman, who always stayed within like three or four feet of him physically, and whose eyes were always looking at him, and who spoke to him several times about nothing at all, about stuff that he was doing or was trying to do, even the little stuff that he was doing inside the restaurant, to pick up and pay for the order.

Damn, I was like to myself, Now, that's an Indian hell-wife.

. . .

(And, in case you were wondering, they didn't leave a tip on the take-out.)