The Indian man

I love going to the asian market. Here is a convo from my last visit:

Scenario: I am trying to find this tea that my Nepali neighbors drink. I have many options. I grab what I think is the proper box and proceed to roam each and every isle until I find someone who I think is from the India region to confirm my soon to be purchase. Three isles later, I spot a man who has a red dot in between his eyes. My assumption…Indian.

Me: Excuse me sir, are you Indian?
Sir: (with quickie-mart accent) Yes I am.
Me: I was wondering if this was the kind of tea you guys drink. I have neighbors from Nepali and I want to make the tea yall drink with the cardamom and milk and sugar.
Sir: Oh yes. It is! This is the good one. How do you know it is? Because when you shake it (as he shakes the box next to his ear)- it makes noise. This means it’s the good one. It is the leaf. If you get one and shake it and it makes no noise then its the powder. You don’t want that one. It is not good. This is the good one. 
Me: So if you were to buy the tea then this is the one you would get? Do you get this kind?
Sir: Yes. You have to shake it though (shaking the box) and if it makes noise then it is the leaf. You got the right one.
Me: Thank you!
Sir: No problem.

I love the asian market.


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