This morning, I woke up tired, with a sore throat and a headache, achy and out-of-sorts, and already late for the office, thanks to Mr. Disorganization. I figured that the very least that the universe owed me was breakfast at the Charley Horse Grill.
So I'm mainlining coffee and huevos California (the ones w/ the salsa and guac, and I'm hoping the salsa will be hot enough to burn my sore throat) and listening to the conversation of the only other patrons in the restaurant, three early-middle-age guys and two young (less than 7 years old) sons that belong, somehow, to some of them. Here's the conversation that I overhear while trying to read that piece of excrement-wipe otherwise known as the WaPo.
One of the guys to one of the kids who's starting to get antsy: So are you eating in the cafeteria this year?
Kid: Yeah!
One of the guys: Does your teacher go to the cafeteria with you?
Kid: No, she goes back to the classroom.
One of the guys: So are you alone in the cafeteria with the big kids?
Kid: No. The principal stays with us.
One of the guys: Is your principal a man or a woman?
Kid: A woman.
One of the guys: So, is she pretty?
Hecate (In her head) OHMYFUCKINGGOD! THAT'S PRECISELY HOW PATRIARCHIAL BULLSHIT GETS HANDED DOWN FROM ONE GENERATION OF Y CHROMOSOMES TO THE NEXT! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND? IF HE'D SAID THAT HIS PRINCIPAL WAS A GUY, WOULD YOU HAVE ASKED IF THE PRINCIPAL WERE HANDSOME? NO! OF COURSE YOU WOULDN'T, YOU FREAKING IDIOT. KNOCK THIS BULLSHIT OFF, YOU TWISTED CREEP!
Hecate (in the real world): Waiter! Check please.
No comments:
Post a Comment