Dear New Delhi Indian Restaurant,
Firstly, let me say this: you guys fucking rule. I dare not imagine Penn without your venerable establishment; why, the mere thought arouses in me tremors of fear. Where, if not to your garden of subcontinental delights, would I go to enjoy a whopping five plates of THC-enhanced, masala-infused buffet goodness? Sitar? Tandoor India? I shudder at the very prospect.
With that said, there are a few issues I'd like to address. Of particularly pressing concern is the matter of the post-dinner cheque. Quite frankly, New Delhi Indian Restaurant, drop the charade. You know we're students. We know you know we're students. Must I don -- in addition to my Penn sweatshirt -- a Penn hat, Penn sweatpants, and a pleated skirt? Must I, in fact, pay with a Penn Student Federal Credit Union Visa? I think not.
Why, then, do we engage in this elaborate ritual when it comes to the requisite 20% student discount? There I sit, sated and sleepy, when your waiter drops the bill (sans discount) at my table and scurries away. I scan the receipt, and I note the glaring omission of the 20% discount. It is here that I attempt to signal one of your waiters, wanting to alert him to the error on the bill; mysteriously, however, there are no servers to be found. (Presumably, they have all retreated to the kitchen to laugh/high-five each other/drink Taj Mahal beer in celebration of yet another Penn kid successfully duped.) When I finally catch someone's attention, he is incredulous, skeptical: "You are... both students?" he says, referring to my dinner guest and I. Sigh. "Yes." And with that, a new bill is brought out, with the aforementioned discount included.
I tire of our game, New Delhi Indian Restaurant, as each time we engage in this strange, twisted danse macabre, the outcome is inevitably the same: I, as a student, have paid an even $10 for the best makhani this side of Mumbai, and you have once again wasted precious paper and ink trying to accrue an additional $2 from my meal. So forgo the farce, New Delhi, and perhaps re-route your energies and funds to a more useful end: I recommend making more naan. God, I love that shit.
Cordially,
Akshay Pendyal
