Moral of the story part V: Accent Agieu

You have to be a fool to be hungry again at 2 a.m., when everything is closed. I mean, 8 p.m., are you hungry? No.
But 2 a.m., Yes very, very much. It's all well in the beginning, there's the pizza that saves you. But a pizza is a pizza and it is not for everyday. You can die from eating pizza too regularly. They call it the inflamation of the taste buds. Like Aids it has no cure and prevention is the only...prevention.
When to have to revert to places like "Pita Factory", you know you're ******.
Pita Factory, a factory of Pitas. No, they're not made in China but they sure taste like they are. Would you ever eat a cake that came from the "Cake Factory"? Or would you eat fruit that came from the "Fruit Factory"?
"Steak Factory"?
"Stuffed Chicken Breast with Pineapple Sauce Factory"? You get the point.
So, once it had to be Pita Factory. Now it's not smart to walk into a Pita Factory on an empty stomach. Firstly, because you might end up eating something. Secondly, if your mind is a little preoccupied, you might... well I'll make my point with the aid of an anecdote.
I stood in line behind two policemen. They're going to be tough with the tickets tonight, I thought. One of the policemen spoke in accented English. So, naturally, I tried figuring out what it was.
I tried and I tried and then I concluded: Not Australian. Definitely not Australian. And definitely not ..."Chicken Souvlaki!". I was lost in my own thoughts, I did not realize that the policemen had left and I was next in line. Well, after the policemen I was the only one in line.
I gave the girl who was about to manufacture my pita a look of recognition; yea, chicken souvlaki... that's me.
"What would like on it?", she asked. I knew what I wanted, the same as everytime. So I said
"Some ta-mate-Os..." and out came an Australian accent.
"Some what?" She asked, a little taken aback.
"Tah-Mate-Os" I tried to hide the obvious shock that ought to have been registered on my face. I guess I managed to do so as she took it in stride and filled my pita with ta-mate-os.
Then she looked up to see what else I wanted on there.
Now I was in a bit of a pickle. I am not known for mimicking accents. I now had to tailor my pita according to the skill-level of my accent-mimicking skill. So, I pictured Shane Warne. And then, in my mind, I asked him to say onions... "un-yuns". And the girl was kind enough to oblige. So far so good, she probably thinks I'm from Australia and not just ordering in an accented speech for no reason. Which is exactly what I was doing, by the way.
Ok, next... come on Shane. "Sum cue-cambers". Haha! I was getting the hang of it. Just a couple more I thought.
But unfortunately that was it. I was looking at the deli and I couldn't pronounce anything else. Shane Warne had walked away. Finally, I cleverly managed with some finger pointing and "sum o that an sum o that..." .
I had pulled it off. I was so proud of myself.
"Would you like it for here or to go?", she asked.
"To gow please". Oh yeah. Confident. Cocky. Australian. I don't know how, I'm not even 6 feet tall.
While she was packaging my Pita in the Pita Factory, my phone rang. I answered it and spoke in fluent Urdu: "Yaar, abhee bari mushkil mein hoon. Meiney ghalti se Australian accent mein khana order kar deeya hai. Yaar, I'll call you back in 5 mins".
So much for covering up for my initial accented slip of tongue. But I didn't even realize it. Nor did my brilliant friend who had called me.
I didn't realize it even when she handed me my Pita to-gow with a look on her face that suggested that she'd just heard a joke. And then I said, "Thanks mate" and she almost burst out laughing.
And then as I slipped my phone back into my pocket, it hit me. After having painfully ordered in an accented speech, I had just blown it with that phone call. And then I almost burst out laughing. The place was pretty much empty because at 2 a.m., people usually get their pitas to-gow. Which was a good thing if any one of us was going to laugh out loud. Anyways by 2:15 am I had something to eat. Or so to say. I hail from Lahore, I like eating things that taste good.
But eating the pita was like digging a hole in the ground. You kept looking at it and hoped that it would end soon. Here's the thing with the pita, if Frank Sinatra ever writes a song about a Pita Factory pita, it would be called "One bite of warm, two bites of cold". Because the vegetables were very very cold and the meat was a little hot. It is awful. Moral of the story: Try doing it some time. Ye'll laav it mate.