My allergies are really horrible this year.

My seasonal allergies are really horrible this year.

Because in years past my body has overreacted to allergy medications that used to work just fine, I use very low dosages of a nasal spray, that I carefully, carefully ease up with my symptoms.

But, starting like a week ago, I just was getting hammered, to the point where the postnasal drip was waking me up multiple times a night in the middle of the night for two nights in a row.

So, I started using a neti pot in the morning to maybe clear out any residual allergens from my nasal passage, and I also made sure my house was humid, to keep my nasal passage nice and moist and maybe keep me from waking up so much.

I also went and bought a new nasal spray bottle, in case the active ingredients in my old one are getting weaker.

I also also emailed my neighbors in the front house to see if they have a vacuum I can borrow that has the right attachments, so I can vacuum my furniture and also the tops of my books on my bookshelves, to maximally remove any residual allergens from my environment.

A failed joke in Spanish.

The other Saturday night at the (Thai) restaurant where I work now, they were changing the grease in the deep frier, and they had put this long pipe thing on it and turned some nozzle and there it was, just gushing out this dark yellow brown stuff into a bucket they had set up.

"El fritador esta pisando," I was like, to one of my Guatemalan coworkers ("The frier is pissing").

But, he just gave me a look.

And, I tried the joke with another coworker, to the same effect.

But, I translated it into English for my one (chubby) (Thai) coworker, and she loved it.

Later, I googled, and it turns out that the (Spanish) word for pissing is "meando".

No wonder they were confused.

And, yet another reason that Spanish is a sh*t language.

Indian hell-wife (2 of 2): Old Indian hell-wife.

So, a few weeks ago at the (Thai) restaurant, this (older) (Indian) woman and a (vaguely Asian-looking) meek guy with glasses and two (biracial) (female) kids come in to eat, and the one kid is quiet but asks a lot of questions about the broth in different dishes, as well as requests two pairs of chopsticks, one for herself and one for the other girl, though she's the only one who ends up using any of them.

But, after the two older people order teas, I bring out a pot of water to leave on the table like I always do, and the (older) (Indian) woman fills each of their cups, and then goes to send the thermos back with me, so, it strikes me as odd, but I take it.

And, I have to come back to the table twice, because she says they're ready to order and she gives me her order and the order for her husband, but neither of the college-age kids is ready to order, yet.

Anyhow, later the restaurant is getting super slammed, and the lady motions to me, and she asks me to bring them more hot water.

So, I was like, What the fuck, and I acted confused and was like, "I thought that I had brought you a thermos?".

"There's no room," she was like, which wasn't really true at that time, since there was space enough on the table for a thermos, the appetizers that were out weren't really taking up that much space.

"Here, let me clear stuff for you," I was like, "And I can get you a new thermos."

So, I did, even though she insisted that I not clear her husband's plate that he said that I should clear, and that he had to insist to her that I could clear, before I finally could take it away.

Anyhow, later after they got their meals, I saw her sending back the thermos again with someone else, and though I refilled their waters (no ice), I really didn't interact with their table much, and then when I was running 7 (!) different credit cards for a different large table that all had split bills, she walks up to the front register where I'm at and she asks me if she can pay with her smartphone (she probably means something like ApplePay) and also if she can get two boxes, and so I'm like, "Yes," and I say that after I finish getting payments together for the table that I'm helping right then (the credit card machine is spitting out receipts, and I have all of these little bill things and multiple credit cards lined up right there in front of her!), I'll be there to help them, probably like in five minutes.

"Okay," she's like, and she turns around and goes back to the table.

Then, in like a minute or two, while I'm still running credit cards for that same table, she's back again, asking me something about if we have birthday candles, and right then my one (middle-aged) (Thai) coworker who's a whiz at the phone pops by to drop something off at the host stand, so I'm like, "Here, Ma'am, she can help you," and so she starts talking to my coworker, and all of a sudden the conversation morphs into a question about if we have a free birthday cake we can bring out, and she'd  also like to order mango and sticky rice for dessert (!).

"Can you do?", my coworker asks me, but since I don't know about the birthday cake stuff, I'm like, "I'm busy with this table right now," gesturing to my credit card stuff, and so the (older) (Indian) hell-wife goes off with my one coworker, who goes to take care of everything for her.

. . .

(And, in case you were wondering, they left like $7 on an $88 bill, to crisply make the check go to exactly $95. It really is amazing that people can be so precise about numbers like that, and be totally unaware or disregardful of tipping customs in another country, which are also related to, incidentally, numbers. And to think that they'd want that same waiter to run back and forth the length of the restaurant to bring them fresh hot water every time they need it, too, instead of having a simple thermos on their table. Just inconsiderate up and down the line.)

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.)

Two weird (Thai) restaurant orders:

1) Adding broccoli to pineapple fried rice; and

2) A curry with meat only, absolutely no vegetables.

Addendum.

The very next time I saw my one (Pentecostal) (Guatemalan) coworker -- the third time since he'd returned -- I said hello to him as if he was a new worker with the same first name as me, to play off the bit of the schtick that he'd started during our last interaction, but with that he told me his real first name, and though I tried to say he was "el [his first name] segundo," he seemed tired of the joke, and he said he was the same guy, and that was that, and he went back to whatever he was doing.

Done.

Or, as they say in Spanish, "Finito" ('Done').

Work changes, redux (2 of 2): Second interaction.

Then, the next time I worked, there was my one (Pentecostal) (Guatemalan) coworker again, which made me realize that he wasn't just coming back to fill in, probably, but something had happened, and he had returned to the restaurant permanently.

So, I said hello to him, but, to keep up the schtick like I had started last time, I made sure to introduce myself.

"?Como te llamas?"  ('How do they call you?'), I was like.

And, he was like, "[My first name]," to f*ck with me.

"Oh," I was like, "Yo [my first name] tambien" ('I'm [my first name] also').

Then, I could tell he was watching me, to see what I'd do.

So, I gestured to the back where he worked and was like, "Tu sabes mucho sobre la cocina" ('You know a lot about the kitchen'), "Y con poquita experencia" ('And with little experience').

Then, I leaned my head in, and, holding his eyes, I emphatically tapped my index finger against the side of my head.

"!Que intelligente!" ('What a smart guy!').

And with that, a smile just shot across his face and he let out that high-pitched tee-hee-hee again, in the only second time in my life that I've ever heard him laugh.