Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Terminator at the Turkey Buffet




Nobody's Perfect: Pick your pet peeve...You KNOW you've got one, everyone does.

Some people really can't stand the sound of fingernails running on a blackboard. To some, it's a woman nagging. Or someone riding your bumper on the freeway. People that don't use turn signals, but just butt in front of everyone because they missed their turn. Some people hate cats.
Me...I can handle just about everything, but one thing. And this one thing is where I draw the line. NOBODY gets by with it if I'm around.

And that's when people butt in line in front of you ...on purpose...just because they don't want to wait, and they think no one will say anything. It's a chance they take.
And because of this pet peeve of mine, I almost got into a knockdown dragged- out fight at the Buffet line for Turkey.

Yes, you heard me...turkey.

Last Sunday night, my family and I (which is my husband and grown son) went to a local Casino just to try out the 'all you can eat' buffet. If you have ever been to one of these things, you grab a plate, and you stand in line to get your cut of meat. The line goes left to right, or right to left, but that's it.

There's no middle, or anything 3D about it.

So, there I was, about sixteenth in line. And things were going pretty slow, mainly because before you got to the beef, turkey, and salmon boys with their carving knives, you came to the mashed potatoes and gravy.

Never put the mashed potatoes and gravy before the beef...I'm just saying.

About ten minutes in that line and I was ready...ready for my turkey...and then...up walked the Diva of the night. She walked right through the middle of the restaurant, her plate already full of food...and was going to just butt in front of me, because obviously, she wanted seconds, and she wasn't about to stand in line again.

I couldn't believe it! The audacity! No, I said to myself, is she really going to do this? Then I thought, she's black....and she's BIG...about six- two! (I'm 5'5") And she is all decked out to show...but look, she IS..she IS cutting right in front of me...and what...the...!

Yes, she did, she just butted in front of me and asked the guy for turkey.

"HEY---get in the back of the line and wait like the rest of us!" I said.

And then she said..."Well, I was here before you!"

Wrong thing to say.

"You were not..."

"I was in line...in fact, there were TWO lines!"

Yes...she made up her own line.

And then she lost it, and turned on me with a real vicious verbal attack. I was a white supremist, and I had a white problem, and because I was white I thought I was special...and then all I could keep saying was...

"Oh yeah...I'm white? I'm white? This is about me being...white?"

I should have said, I don't care if you're pink with polka dots and you're the cousin of Jimmy Hoffa, get to the back of the line... but I didn't.

Then I turned to the two boys that were cutting up the meat. A young black boy and a young white boy, and their eyes were about as big as saucers. There were thinking about how to duck the food...they were smiling and like..."Wow...check it out...this black and white lady are going to fight!"

She was threatening to beat up my white ass...right there...over turkey

I must admit...I got a wee bit...scared. Because after all, she was in full-blown fighting mode, a good eight feet taller than me.

But then, I looked down. She had flimsy high heels on. It was a very slick linoleum floor. She had a new sequin black dress, big earrings to grab, lots of teased up hair, and I had on my jeans, and a great pair of sneakers, a turtle neck sweater...and thirty years of carrying very heavy drum equipment.

She was toast.

Besides, I had worked enough bars in my life to know, that she was just a Obama bully.

So,...I put my face up about two inches from her nose...and looked at her calmly right in the eye. With my..."You do not scare me, and I'm ready....give me your best shot" I said....nothing. I just looked her in the eye.

Whoa.

I gave her my Ahmadinejad mixed with a bit of the Terminator...ready to rumble look.

She backed off, flashing her big fake eyelashes and pretty much ran, her pretty high heels flapping...no kidding!

The boys behind the counter gave her the size of a quarter of turkey...but they gave me...three slices of beef, three big slices of turkey.. a hunk of salmon....and lots of wow looks.

I felt...victory. (Come on, leave me alone. I think fighting over turkey is stupid.)

Now, I know, that we could take this further, the blacks because of Obama, want to get in the front of all the lines, and if the whites protest, they are white racists. It's getting old.

But, having told you all this, I do have a confession to make. I actually did cut in a line, just one time in my life...and I must apologize to the man.

Dave Barry...I'm sorry.

I was at a book signing downtown..(I live a good hour away) with Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson. The place was packed, and the line afterwards was about 2 hours wait. I had no idea there would be so many people there.

And because I had hand made a paper fan (which took me days) for Dave Barry's little girl, I wanted to give it to him. After all...this man, whose books I had admired so much, might never come my way again.

And BECAUSE I spent so much time in the bathroom trying to get my lipstick on perfect (Okay, I had not expected him to be so damn cute) I was the last person in line. That would put me home about 9 o'clock at night. What was I going to tell my husband?

Oh right:"Dear...I was at a book signing downtown...oh I didn't tell you? Sorry about supper." (You have to know my husband)

Anyway, I had to make the awful decision to go against every grain in my body. I either had to do the very thing I hated so badly...or waste the moment that might never come again in my lifetime. I had asked a couple about twenty back from the front if I could get in line with them...I explained my situation...and they were very nice. Nevertheless...Dave Barry saw me do it and I'm sure thought the very same thing about me. ...what a rude diva.

I have had a hard time living with that memory, and the face he made at me...I can't tell you, broke me inside. You can't explain these things in one second.

Now, if that girl had simply ASKED...told me she was just back for seconds...would I mind? I would not have had a problem with it.

But...like I said. I'm a terminator when it comes to my pet peeve. You do NOT mess with me.

I am...fearless. and Nobody's is ever perfect, BUT...I promise that I will protect and defend everyone's right to a fair line...unless it comes to Dave Barry.

Then, it's every woman for herself.

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7 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Amfortas says:

You will possibly not have heard of the 'shoes' contretemps that happened in a suburb of Rotarua in New Zealand. ( You have heard of New Zealand?) You might like to think about using it as a tactic should the large black women comes back for more seconds.

A Maori chap had a chicken which laid an egg in his back yard pretty well everyday.

His next door neighbour, a Samoan fellow, noticed this and wanted an egg for breakfast too. So one morning he waited, hiding behind a tree, and just after the chook laid the egg, he jumped the fence, scooped up the egg and jumped back into his own yard again.

The Maori chap spotted this. And he was not a happy little brown chap.

He went around next door and spoke to the Samoan. "Hey Bro, that's my breakfast. Give it back".

"No way, Bro", said the Samoan. "In my tribe its a tradition that the finder of an egg keeps the egg"

The Maori was even less happy. "Well, Bro, in MY tribe we have a way of settling disagreements like this"

"Oh yeh. And what's your tribe's way, Bro?"

"Its the Maori Warrior's Way. You up to being as strong as a Maori warrior?"

"I reckon so, Bro. Samoan's can beat Maoris any day".

"OK, We take turns to kick each other. I kick you as hard as I can, in the balls, and time how long it takes you to stand up again. Then you kick me in the balls as hard as you can and time me getting back up".

The Samoan saw that the Maori was barefooted while he himself had his Nikes on (that he had stolen from a shoe store). "Ok, Bro. Give it your best toe"

The Maori stapped back and delivered an almighty kick straight to the Samoan's wedding tackle. What a kick it was. The Samoan went down like a tree clutching his privates and moaning fit to cause a gale.

It took 9 minutes for him to get back up, and all that time, through his pain, he was thinking of his Nikes.

"Ok Bro", he gasped as he staggered up. "My turn"

"Nah", said the Maori. "You can have the egg".

2:38 AM  
Blogger Joyanna Adams said...

Wonderful story! But...I, much to my credit...did NOT have Nike's on..

I'm just wondering...did you hear this joke in New Zealand?

12:16 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Amfortas says:

I have heard icelandic jokes too.

6:35 PM  
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