Jesus Christ, people! I can’t even eat a salad in peace!!
I went to Souplantation today to have lunch with my mother. She’s a woman of many homes, and by that I mean she is a transient that uses people for a place to sleep. Recently, she called me to let me know that she had eloped with a guy she had essentially known for three weeks, but he lives in some hillbilly town in New Mexico and didn’t even buy her a wedding ring (she bought herself the Kmart blue light special which promptly fell apart), so she spends a lot of time meandering around, sleeping on people’s couches and such, and avoiding New Mexico until she feels she needs to get some (her words).
Back to Souplantation, I was in the bathroom when all of a sudden someone said to me “Heather? Is that you?” and it turned out to be the sister of my husband’s cousin in-law. Did you catch the association? I don’t know how the fuck the lady remembered me from one time we passed by each other like two years ago, but she did and so she accosted me in the bathroom at Souplantation and asked if I wanted to join her and her family. Ultimately, it was very very nice of her – much nicer than I deserve, but I graciously declined because my mother was waiting for me at the table, eating the lunch which I had already paid for (my mom had not even reached for her wallet at the register), and ready to tell me more stories about porking her man on Valentine’s Day (again, her words).
So I returned to the table and all of a sudden I heard these women in line at the salad area screaming at each other. One was a woman probably in her 40s, morbidly obese and with a definite hormonal problem. The other was a skinny lady that clearly had passed into her 70s and was hell-bent on proving her point about who-knows-what? to the world.
The screaming match went like this:
Obese lady with a hormonal problem: “Excuse me, but I don’t fucking live here so I don’t know what the protocol is at the buffet.”
Old skinny hag bent on proving her point: “Well, I’m just saying you could be a little more polite and not hog all the dressing. You know, you look like you could go a little lighter on it anyway.”
Obese lady with a hormonal problem: “What the fuck is your problem you old bitch?”
Old skinny hag bent on proving her point: “My problem is you and what I’m looking at.”
Obese lady with a hormonal problem: “Yeah, well at least you aren’t me.”
Old skinny hag bent on proving her point: “Yeah, I agree. But why?”
Obese lady with a hormonal problem: “Because I have to look at your ugly ass face.”
Then the hormonal bitch waddled away and the old hag threw a piece of tomato in the lady’s direction.
By the time this whole thing was over, I wanted to leave. For Christ’s sakes, all I wanted to do was eat my salad in peace!
Heather Christena Schmidt 
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