Unless you have been hiding in the walk-in for the last six months, you probably heard by now that Beyoncé popped out a couple of babies and everyone is dying to know what their names are. For those of you who don’t know who Beyoncé is, what in fresh hell is wrong with you? She is the most important person on this earth right ahead of Jose Cuervo and Barefoot Contessa. It seems that when she had her twins, the whole Twitterverse pretty much exploded and the Internet almost needed to take a sick day. Now everyone is freaking the fuck out about what she’s going to name them. Well, I am here to announce that unless she plans on bringing those twins into my section at work and I will have to tip the busser an extra five bucks to clean up after them I don’t care. At all. In fact, here are eight things I care about more than the names of Beyonce’s twins.
- There is a ball of used Kleenex on Table 9 that a customer who had a cold left at her table. I care more about that Kleenex than I do about Beyoncé’s twins’ names.
- A man once told me his entire life story about growing up near the Grand Canyon because I told him I visited there when I was in high school. I care more about that man’s boring ass story than I do about Beyoncé’s twins’ names.
- Under Table 16, there is a wad of chewing gum that has been there for at least two weeks. I care more about that crappy piece of Hubba Bubba than I do about Beyoncé’s twins’ names.
- The restroom needs more toilet paper, but I couldn’t find any so I pretended to not notice. I care more about how people will wipe their asses than I do about Beyonce’s twins’ names.
- Our soup of the day is Carrot Ginger and I think it tastes too sweet and when the chef garnishes it with poppy seeds, it looks like a mouse pooped in the soup. I care more about that soup than I do about Beyoncé’s twins’ names.
- The mop head at work is really dirty and needs to be changed, but it’s such a hassle to change it. I care more about the cleanliness of the restaurant floor than I do about Beyoncé’s twins’ names.
- One time I saw a kid flick a booger onto his sister and it landed in her hair as she was eating mac and cheese. No one knew it except me and that little boy. I care more about how that booger got rinsed out of her hair than I do about Beyoncé’s twins’ names.
- Mr. and Mrs. Goldbaum come into the restaurant about once a week and they have a combined age of about 175 years old. They get on my nerves and complain about everything. They always make a huge mess and when I see them heading toward my section, my heart dies a little. I care more about their salt intake than I do about Beyoncé’s twins’ names.
We get it, Beyoncé. You had some babies. It’s not like God reached down and touched you and then you gave birth in a manger or anything. Congratulations…you caught a hot load from Jay Z. There are plenty of us who don’t care what you name those loads. (By the way, Mrs. Carter. You can click here to buy my book.)