The Noodle Incident

Zoongash stood in solitude on the corner of Main St. slurpping away on the curried noodles from Chan's, trying to warm his body from the cold. Although it was cold, the sun shone brightly in the cloudless sky and it was this, which had prompted Zoongash to leave his stuffy liquor store and get some fresh air. The steaming bowl of ramen was the closest thing to a good curry that Zoongash could find. How he missed the spice of Alia's curry. Zoongash let out a sigh as he thought of the one and only woman he had ever loved. It was not often that Zoongash allowed himself to be so vulnerable by exposing his emotions, but his eyes began to glisten as he pictured her beautiful face. He began to think about how different his life would be had he not lost-

"Bloody chink! Look what you've done," yelled Zoongash as he looked down to see the remainder of his curried noodle splattered all over his shirt.

A Chinese man in a Yankees hat had ran into Zoongash as he rushed around the corner, causing Zoongash to spill his bowl of noodles.

"Excuse me, I am very sorr-," the Chinese man paused in his apology. "What did you call me?"

"You heard me you bloody chink! Watch where you are going chutia," replied Zoongash as he futilely began to try to wipe off some of the curry sauce, although most of it had already seeped into his shirt.

"Go to hell you racist prick!" yelled the man as he stormed off down the street and in his rage he did not realize that he stepped on a woman sitting on the sidewalk.
"You bloody Chinese bugger, come back here and feel the back of my hand!" shouted Zoongash as the man continued on his way down the street, giving Zoongash the finger as he did. Zoongash was about to yell out an insult regarding the man's mother, but was cut short as a fire truck screamed by, sirens blaring. Zoongash looked down at his curry drenched shirt and just shook his head. "Bloody city."

Crunch! The dying cockroach twitched as Zoongash removed the the rolled up issue of India Today which served as his makeshift fly swatter.

"Bloody little buggers," yelled Zoongash as he brushed the bug's carcass from the counter and into the nearby trash bin. He settled back down into his worn leather chair behind the counter awaiting the first customer of the day. It was already four thirty and he had yet to have any one enter Mo Liquor.

"Bloody weather, always driving away customer," he said in frustration, referring to the snow that had began to fall. Just as Zoongash began to nod off to the melodic voice of Nasrat Fateh Ali Khan on the radio, a customer entered the store. Zoongash snapped to attention and rose to inspect his new customer. She wore a scarlet red coat and fishnet stockings. Zoongash just shook his head as she approached the counter with a bottle of vodka in her hand. If a woman wore such an outfit in Pakistan she would be stoned for showing so much skin, Zoongash thought to himself.

"You some kind of hooker or someting? Walking around showing your legs like a rundi," said Zoongash as he rung up the bottle of Smirnoff.
"Excuse me?" replied the woman in disbelief as to what he had just said to her "I think I'll take my business elsewhere you Indian asshole," said the woman as face turned as red as her coat.
"Good, I don't want your dirty money anyway you rundi ke bachi," replied Zoongash as he snatched the bottle from the woman and placing it on the shelf behind the counter. The woman stormed out of the store in a rage, stumbling into a man and his dog walking past on the said walk. She hardly seemed to noticed and just continued on her way down Rouse Blvd.

"Bloody woman," muttered Zoongash, waving his hand in disgust. He placed his rusty kettle on the small propaneburner he kept behind the stove and patiently waited for the water boil, sipping his flask of scotch as he did. Just as he began to pour his tea, the store went dark. The store was completely silent, Zoongash could not even hear the low hum of the coolers along the wall.
"Maadher chod! God damn this bloody weather!" Accepting the fact that there was nothing he could do, he sat back in his chair. with flask in one hand and cup of tea in the other.