Wednesday, October 27, 2010
there's always one
Yesterday I wrote a post that pertained to gross stereotypes.
Americans are fat and friendly.
Mostly yes. But never forget that there’s always one that fucks it up for everyone.
It’s the French man who doesn’t smell like garlic who drives a Volvo, not a Peugeot.
Or the German who disobeys all the rules.
Or the Italian who sits on his hands.
Or a nasty, mean American bureaucrat that works at the border post of JFK airport.
I found my anti-stereotype at a 50s diner in downtown San Francisco. And I almost punched it.
[Henceforth called ‘it’, as it was of indeterminable sex, had a backside the size of a bus, and because I hate it. I hate it so much.]
We enter the diner seeking waffles, strawberry milkshake and bacon strips for breakfast. Diner seemed appropriate, and as the friendly sign out front said, Only 35 stairs to climb for the best food in town! or some such.
(They’ve clearly had people go, ‘I say, a diner! Oh man, I’m hungry. I could finish off two plates of burgers. Oh wait. Stairs. Forget it, there’s a Taco Bell across the road with no stairs.’)
Me and my new best gay friend walk in, I see my phone has died. No fear, I’m prepared, and we are in a First World country where electricity is well in abundance.
I pull out my charger cable, and ask a skinny little Asian punk which electricity hole I can whack my charger into.
Points to a socket next to our table. Lovely. We can now focus on our giant fuck-off milkshakes.
There’s a scramble on the other end of the restaurant. Then, what I can only describe as a booming yell.
‘EXCUSE ME. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’
It’s like blinding thunder. I whip around. Is it talking to me?
It’s huge, wobbling and irate. Jesus Christ, I am an extra in The Blob.
Peas: [Small voice in case it bites me and gives me a disease] I’m…just plugging my phone into my charger.
WHAT? GET THAT OUT OF THERE. NOW.
Peas: I was told I could plug it into th…
WELL I’M SAYING YOU CAN’T. YOU GET THAT OUT OF THERE NOW.
Peas: [Ping. It happens. From meek and scared to pissed off for being treated this way] WHY SHOULD I?
IT MESSES WITH OUR SYSTEMS. MOVE.
Sorry do you work in an airport bitch? Are you federal security? Are you on the rag?
Plug sockets, asshole, are created so that people can plug into them. They don't fuck with any system, it connects my appliance to an electricity source. Need I honestly explain how plugs work?
But it wasn’t the vast lack of logic that made me stand up and announce that we were leaving.
It was the fact that this thing had barreled into my life, rudely throwing her ample backside around, and it was through the decibel range of her booming voice across the place that had me throwing my chair out with rage, grabbing my gay friend and saying,
‘Fuck you, fatty. You just lost customers who were going to order two milkshakes, Each.’
And we ran all the way down the street and didn’t stop until we were sure she wasn’t on our tail, wielding a frying pan that would knock my head clean off my shoulders.
Hey, only 1 of 5. One of five.