Instead of publishing the final chapter, I think instead I might have to post this link to better monitor the possible outcome of the Hadron Collider's insidious motives;
Has the Large Hadron Collider destroyed the world yet?
Since all I can do is wait, I think I will tell another true story for an eager audience.
I used to work at Wendy's. It was an interesting high school job, teaching me much about the world (and much about the assholes who live in it). I remember running the front counter one day, a seventeen-year-old me staring longingly into the far window.
Interrupting my gaze into the afternoon sunlight soon enough was an older woman, possibly in her forties or fifties. Clutching her purse tightly, she proceeded to timidly ask me if she could have a salad from our bountiful garden selection.
Without pausing, she then put out her palm in a stopping gesture, and said, "but I can't have carrots on it. For medical reasons, I can't eat root vegetables."
Not wasting any time myself, I then recited the names of the salads without carrots on them, subsequently pointing out their identifying photographs on the menu board behind me.
"Wait, does the Mandarin Chicken Salad have nuts or cucumbers on it?" she asked, more confidently than before.
"Unfortunately, it comes with a few nuts, and a handful of tart citrus reservoirs," I replied, as tactfully as possible.
"I can't have that then," she said, a frustrated grimace striking at me from her face.
I responded by trying to offer her a bare-bones salad, saying more or less that I could go into the back room and throw a bunch of lettuce into a plastic container for her eating pleasure.
"That would be great," she replied, enticing a relieved smile from me.
"Except..."
My smile spun around instantly.
"...I can't have any salads with any white lettuce," she finished. As soon as those words left her lips, I found myself boiling inside. At the time, I felt it was a complete waste of my time for her to go and ask for a dish that God himself would have struggled with. I still think that today, five years later.
I stared the woman right in the eye and extended this heart-felt question.
"Ma'am, if you can't eat carrots, cucumbers, or even lettuce, then why are you challenging my intellect by trying to order a salad? We've got a whole selection of food items that don't contain any of those things. They're called cheeseburgers. If you REALLY want to be safe, I'll pour you a cup of chili. I made sure there was no lettuce in it at 7:30 this morning."
She stared at me, just as shocked at my audacity as I was at her stupidity.
Needless to say, I got a nice word from my boss. It was worth every second.
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2 comments:
Whoa, whoa, whoa. What in the blue hell is this? Has Lebron heard this right, is somebody out there calling himself “the King Magnificent?” That can’t be right, but here L.J. was, enjoying another summer of fornicating among the affection and adulation of various native girls found throughout the Pacific and the Cleveland south side, when his King Sense went off (It was never Spider Sense, Stan Lee stole that shit from L.J.). Well he’s back, raised like a phoenix, to view another false claim to his throne.
Here we have a working man; a chef at Wendy’s. Now Lebron might know what that place was if he ever had to eat something other than the finest cuts of Beef, Chicken, and Orca, but he doesn’t, so he don’t. Still, “The King Magnificent” has brought that shit to the internet, and L.J. took time out of his busy schedule of buying youth hostels to tear down and lighting fire to Red Cross bins to answer the call. And just know, this isn’t about lettuce, it’s not about carrots, (lots of times what L.J. will do is hire out a neighboring country to raid all the vegetable crops from a poor nation, and then have them sell it to me at a discount. Then I burn them on the Fourth of July, while I watch Armageddon. This America, man…). This is about your audacity to call yourself anything other than roody poo. Just another mothbreather in L.J.'s kingdom and it just became unacceptable. This blog is on notice; The King is back.
I find that as audacious as I am to call myself King Devon the Magnificent, it's leaps about bounds ahead of the morons who search for blogs to write run-on sentences (without even a vaguely clear subject/predicate) in. I pride myself on being the king of internet intelligence. You on the other hand, probably don't even get the simplest of my humor.
Good day.
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