You Are Not The God of Food

Chatham food staff are jerks. I went to get sushi at the grill, because they didn't have any at the cafe and the grill wasn't open.

Grill opens at 10:00am. It was 10:00am. I am looking at the clock inside the grill and it reads 10:00am. This is important, because it proves I wasn't being totally unreasonable later.

But as it was only just turning 10:00am, I just chilled out and waited. I figured they'd get around to it once they saw someone outside. But they were busy, so I wandered away. I walked around the block. I went to the bathroom. I walked around the block again.

10:15. The grill still isn't open. So I figure, maybe they forgot someone has a burning desire for sushi. So I stand outside the glass door and peek inside, trying to see if they have sushi in the refrigerators while I wait.

And this old hag bitch walks past the door, glares at me with the fires of hell I'm sure she'd been resurrected from and goes, "Oh, keep your pants on. God. I'll open in a minute."

Excuse me?

You do not talk to me that way. I wouldn't take that shit from my own mother, I am certainly not going to take it from some glorified food demon who doesn't realize that glass doors don't automatically mean soundproof.

1. You are 15 minutes late to open.
2. It's not like I'm going to sprint into the grill and demand food immediately. I just thought it'd be nice to, you know, get into the fucking air conditioning when it's eighty some degrees outside and most of the buildings don't have air conditioning.
3. YOU WORK IN FOOD SERVICE. Try being polite. It's kind of what you get paid for. I mean, I understand it's a hard job. And if I was actually rude to you, by all means, please spit in my food. That's your privilege as a food handler. But you do NOT get to start picking fights before I've even entered the fucking building.

So I smiiiiiled at her, waited until Hagface Food Bitch of the Twenty-Ninth Hell Circle got her keys from under the desk.

And then I walked away.

Screw her. I don't need her stinky sushi. She probably died in it.

I was half way up the hill and she comes out the building after me all, "We're open now," with that tone that actually said, "What the hell are you doing? You waited this long for me to get my bony ancient ass to unlock the door and snark at you while doing it, you might as well be inconvenienced by me some more."

So I ignored her. Which would have been good, except some stupid Chatham girl had to come down the hill, "Excuse me. I think she's calling you."

Yeah, bitch. I realized that. Stop ruining my dramatic exit. (This is why I need to learn sign language. So I could sign "I can't hear you--deaf" at old bitchy people and make them feel really bad for being bitchy)

But I turned around and waved at the lady, smiling. Called, "No, that's okay!" and went away.

Jesus Christ, you are not the god of food. You're a glorified lunch lady. I wish I was one of those actually confrontational people and I could be all, "Your comments are not okay. No one talks to me that way. I am allowed to look calmly through a glass door. I wasn't bothering you."

But, alas, I am not yet Hortense Lee. But one day. One day I will be 80 years old and I will take shit from no one.