So this man came into my place of employment yesterday with his whore wife and their two whore children. They sat at a whore booth and let the kids play with the sugar caddies because that’s what whore children like to do. I swear to God, what is the appeal of dumping a sugar caddie out in the table? I want to market it for the latest toy craze and make a million dollars on it. The kids play with that shit like it’s a freaking Cabbage Patch doll, or whatever the latest craze is. (I know the Cabbage Patch craze was like 25 years ago, so shut up.) Anyhoo, he orders a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for his boy whore child. It’s not on the menu. I tell him we don’t have it and he looks like he is going to have a stroke or heart attack or some shit. “What? You don’t HAVE peanut butter and jelly?” Nope, we don’t have that. If it’s not on the menu, that means we DO NOT HAVE IT. After he lifted his jaw off the floor he decided to order a bagel and he asked for it with jam. No problem. Then a light bulb went off over his head. He says to me, “so you have jam and you have bread and you must have peanut butter some where, but I can’t order a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for my bastard son the retard?” Nope, we don’t have that. “But-” Nope, we don’t have that. “well maybe you can-” Nope, we don’t have that. Meanwhile his wife finally pulled her head out of her ass and said to him to let it go. If it ain’t on the menu, don’t order it. Just because we have the ingredients to make a coconut fucking cake does not mean we are going to make one. We also have the ingredients to make whore child stew but don’t order it. (The recipe is very simple. It’s bits of whore child into boiling water with a carrot and bullion cube. But don’t order it because we don’t have it.)
So this lady drags her bratty ass children into the restaurant last week. “We’re from California,” she tells me like I am supposed to be all excited about it. Why do people from California think it’s so cool to be from California? I don’t give a shit where you are from, what you did before you got here or what you are doing after. Tell me what you want to eat and then leave a tip and get the fuck out. So she calls me over to ask me a favor. She wants to know if I can turn the television off for her. Never mind that there is some stupid ass football game on that a lot of people seem to care about, she wants it off. When I asked her why, she had a real doozy of an answer. She said that in her house (in California, you know!) they didn’t eat with the TV on because they wanted their kids to pay attention to them instead. And here in our restaurant with the television on, the kids were distracted and paying more attention to it than to her. Seriously, she said that. I told her no even though I was thinking that maybe if she was more interesting and not such a bitch her kids might like her more.