As is our custom, we have found ways to convolute, pollute and dilute the significance of important events. Thus, Easter is now about hidden eggs and Thanksgiving is about football and having to buy looser pants. Do we even remember the original meaning of these days? Sure! Maybe. Well, no. Eggs and turkeys, to paraphrase Morpheus, is just the world that has been pulled over our eyes to blind us to the truth.
And so it is with July 4th, our nation’s birthday. It wasn’t always about eating contests. [click to continue…]
I understand. My last name is Japanese. It’s not Smith or Jones. So I’ll give you a pass if you pronounce it incorrectly. Within limitations. If you throw out a Ow-gay-tah or even an Aug-uttuh, at least you are using the correct letters in the proper sequence.
But from time to time, I’ll get people who decide to add letters of their own. I’ve heard Orgata, Ortega and even Ottawa. Seriously? WTF? Ottawa? How do you survive day-to-day being this illiterate? Just the other day, I got “Goat-atta”. Come on, that sounds like something they serve at the Afghanistan Taco Bell. As in, “Try the new crunchy, cheesy, Goatatta!”
People, stop being lazy assholes.
Is it me? Can’t be. Idiots even get my first name wrong. It’s in the Bible, and one of the easy ones too… not Hezekiah. I think I project and enunciate well enough. But the problem happens everytime I’m at a restaurant or someplace where the “hostess” asks for my name. As TV Guide would say, “assholery ensues.”
Me: I need a table for two.
Ho: Okay, for how many?
Me: … [breaks fourth wall and stares at camera]
Me: Two.
Ho: Can I get a name?
Me: Paul.
Ho: Did you say “Ball”?
Yeah. Fricking ball. Seriously, how many people in this underachieving whore’s life has she run into named Ball? It continues…
Me: No, Paul.
Ho: Can you spell that?
Me: Peeee… Ayyyy… Youuuu… Elll….
Ho: Oh, Paul. It’s going to be a 20 minute wait.
Use your common sense. Even if someone told me their name and it sounded like “Bitchard”, I would ask, “Did you say Richard?” And guess what? Roughly 97 times out of 100 they will say, “Yes, Richard.” (The other 3 out of 100 times, the person has crazy douchebags for parents.)
So the next time I’m confronted with one of these non-listening turds, here’s the plan:
Me: I need a table for two.
Ho: Can I get a name?
Me: Brrrtpulupulu-g-g-g-ng (insert click noise).
Ho: Burple… chuggalugga… You know what? Let me see if I can get you table right now.
Problem solved.
