So, it’s not just me then.
I was never into cutting or anything like that, but I was definitely into self-harm — I just bear my scars on the inside.
As a vegetarian, I don’t do McDonald’s et al but, even if I weren’t, I’d still be inclined to cut out the middle-man and purchase a bag of vomit that I simply threw in the nearest trash-can immediately afterwards — fast food makes you sick quick, so it’s the logical conclusion of the whole sordid affair really.
But, back in the early ’90s, I did used to go to a cafe by the name of The Seafarer … in a landlocked town, slap bang in the middle of the country, hundreds of miles from any coast … on the basis that the food was awful but at least the waitress was rude. I’d eat meat pie and fries … not any specific meat … the menu never said what meat it was, just that it contained meat … and feel queasy afterwards. And I never troubled the staff with my requests if I could help it — especially not on a Saturday, when all the waitresses were glued to the public phones on the back wall and not taking orders because they were “BUSY, OKAY!!!”
One day, I was there on my regular pilgrimage and, as usual, it took somewhere in the region of ninety minutes before my order arrived at the table, despite the fact that I was the only one in the joint.
In the meantime, the waitress wandered between the public area … where she did nothing discernible for thirty seconds … and the kitchen, where she SCREEEEEEEAMED at the ‘chef’ for five minutes … back into the public area for thirty seconds … back into the kitchen, where she SCREEEEEEEAMED at the ‘chef’ for five minute … for that entire hour.
Something like thirty minutes into my stay, two old guys (at least in their seventies) entered and ordered some food (including a round of toast each) and two cups of tea. Naturally, they received marginally better service than I … because toast doesn’t really require as much effort as putting a meat pie in the microwave and warming up some fries to arrive at the same time … and after about half an hour, their tea turned up (sans toast, of course, never mind whatever else they may have ordered).
Meanwhile, the screaming in the kitchen continued unabated.
I’m not sure how many times, over the course of the following fifteen minutes, they requested teaspoons with which to stir the sugar into their tea … maybe three (they did seem rather intimidated and hesitant) … but on the last occasion, the waitress snapped and screamed “GET it YOURSELF!” at the paying customers.
It was wonderful … an experience I’ll never forget.
