A Bucket of Lard, and a Sneaky Bastard

Growing up, my oldest sister had a serious eating disorder. The knowledge of this made me feel like a pregnant hippopotamus because she was always so much thinner then I was, and nothing boosted my self esteem more then a petite, beautiful blond standing 5'9, with a perfect rack telling me she was utterly repulsive.
One Christmas she was home from college, and over a few to many margaritas she began confessing to me terrible things she had done to her friends, just to make her feel better about herself. She told me about how she would dump out her roommate's diet soda, and refill it with regular soda. She would crack the seal of her skinny friend's Splenda, replace it with regular sugar, and glue the edges back together. She would offer to cook, and use pure lard. She even made "health-shake" for her model friends using whole sticks of butter.
At the time, I had a few laughs about it. I found myself justifying her actions, I even thought of all the ways her little scheme could have benefited me in the past. Just like LiLo with the energy bars in Mean Girls, I though about all the hot girls whose bodies I could have have watched bloat up with Lard and butter, as I laughed and kept on feeding them. How their misery, and self-hatred would somehow make me feel better and help with my own validation. And then I sobered up.

I haven't thought much about my sister's shenanigans since then, I have even gained an appreciation, and have learned to be happy with myself the way that I am.

But then the other day I was at Starbucks. My Barista was a heavy set teenage boy, who stood cowering and meek, almost as if he was uncomfortable in his own skin. When I asked for a small sugar-free nonfat iced mocha, he rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath,

"Nonfat, sure...make fun of me...just like everyone else.."


I chose not to respond. There was nothing I could have done or said that would have made feel any better about himself, nor was my nonfat drink in anyway a representation of what I thought, or felt about him. So I remained silent, but I watched him closely as he made my drink. I watched as he pumped 5 squirts of REGULAR Mocha syrup into my drink, and as he
sneakily added a squirt and a half of Classic Syrup (liquid sugar).

Barista: "Nonfat Mocha..."

GH: "Thanks..."
Taking one sip so he could see me, I scrunched my face and said,
"Are you sure this is sugar free?"

Barista: "Yes, It is..."

GH: "Uh, OK. Thanks."

Upon leaving the building I dropped the drink into the nearest trash can. Luckily I had payed with a gift card that much to my surprise still had $20 dollars remaining.

I was really annoyed by the whole ordeal, yet having to dump the drink was the least of my concerns. I was pissed that he was dishonest, that he would purposely sabotage a stranger who unintentionally offended him. I understand low self-esteem. I struggled with it all through junior high and high school. But does he honestly think that just because he is miserable, everyone else should be too? That since he is fat and unhappy, everyone else should join him in self-loathing.

We make our own happiness. We may not like our weight, our hair, or our clothes, but we shouldn't treat everyone else like shit because we are unsatisfied. We should change our attitudes, and treat people with love and respect, only then will we learn to love the person trapped underneath the extra weight, a bad hair-cut, or shabby clothes.

“What’s taking so long”

You have no idea how much I hate hearing this question.

Patron: “excuse me ‘mam, why is our food taking so long??”

G.H: “Well since you asked so nicely, I should tell you…our cook is outside smoking, or better yet, he’s in the men’s room taking a dump. He doesn’t give a fuck about you or your order, and he’ll get around to your extra well done sirloin whenever the hell he feels like it…”

First of all, If you go to a restaurant to spend money on over-priced crap, at least enjoy yourself. If you only have 20 minutes left of your lunch break, don’t expect to enjoy your dining experience.

But, if you insist, then let me give you a small pointer. An extra well-done sirloin takes about 20 minutes to cook. If you would have let us butterfly cook it, like I suggested, cook time would have been more like 11 minutes. But since you refused, thats your problem. Don’t patronize me…dont roll your eyes when you food isn’t brought out to you the second you fucking order it. This is not McDonald's. This is an upscale restrauant. If that is not acceptable, then don’t come back.