Shared Karma

I had a young man in my taxi over the weekend. I would usually refer to a young man as a gentleman, but he was not.

I immediately got the impression that he was quite unpleasant and rude, from the way he slouched into the taxi, simply barking out the part of town he wanted to go to without a please or thank you, and how he immediately started eating his kebab in the backseat without even asking my permission. Simply put, he was a horrible dickhead.

When we got to where he lived, he paid the exact fare, not a penny more, not a penny less, and slouched off to his house. Incidentally I never expect a tip, so I expect this was just par for the course for the individual in the back of my car.

I was quite relieved that the journey was over as you can imagine.

As he walked away I casually looked over my left shoulder and spotted the mayonnaise drizzled blue takeaway fork on the back seat. Once again, it was no surprise to see it there.

Image not to scale, and not including mayonnaise.

As this was my last job and I was heading to ASDA to do a bit of shopping before I went home, I just drove off with the blue fork on the backseat. I would dispose of it when I got there.

When I got to ASDA I opened the back door to remove the blue fork, and was fairly unsurprised to see the abandoned kebab on the floor beneath where my passenger had been sitting.

You can’t beat a kebab after a night out, unless you are beating it over the head of a drunk person for being a dickhead.

Muttering something under my breath expressing my opinion of my passenger, I closed the kebab box and removed it from the floor of my taxi.

It was at this point that I noticed a long, flat, oil stained, brown paper bag beneath where the kebab box had formerly been.

I observed that the paper bag was quite warm so I slid the contents out to discover a couple of rather gorgeous looking onion bhajis nestled in a polystyrene tray.

Rejoicing in the positive turnaround of events, I climbed back into the front seat of the taxi with the onion bhajis, with the intention of enjoying the fuck out of them.

The onion bhajis I found did not look as nice as this, but you get the idea.

The first onion bhaji went down a storm. Crispy and warm with just the right amount of internal moistness with a feathery texture, I was feeling quite pleased with myself.

Raising the second onion bhaji to my mouth I noticed that it looked a little different to the first one, with a slightly different colour nearer to light brown than gold, with a marginally different surface texture. Perhaps it was a different type of onion bhaji?

As I bit down I noticed how softer the second onion bhaji was. Around the same time, my tongue informed me that I had bitten into the surface of the sun, taste wise.

The second onion bhaji was fucking HOT. Like a vindaloo or a phal curry.

One of my soon-to-be-deceased taste buds.

After drinking a litre and a half of pop to extinguish the inferno in my mouth I disposed of the second kebab rather than attempting to eat it.

I can only conclude that my passenger had similarly pissed off the people in the kebab shop, so they left him a little present, in the form of a “modified” onion bhaji. Modified with the hottest curry paste on Earth.

Before I disposed of the onion bhaji I broke it in half to discover that there was quite a lot of brown curry paste mixed in with the ingredients.

Unfortunately due to the level of alcohol he’d probably consumed he had forgotten about his onion bhajis so the karma that was headed his way ended up in my mouth.

But that first onion bhaji was fit.