Gatsby in the house, mofos!
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| Seriously, how fucking cute am I? Answer: Very. |
Well, Mum has a house inspection tomorrow morning, so she woke up today, suddenly started swearing, and shoved me and all her questionable/dangerous/illegal belongings into a giant bag and hid us all at her brother-in-law’s place. Fortunately, that includes her laptop. So while she’s frantically cleaning the apartment before heading to dinner service, I can answer my MAILBAG!
Dear Gatsby,
So there I was, waiting for my meal at the local fish and chippery. When guess what? The girl brought out a battered barramundi, when I asked for grilled! I informed her of this mistake, and demanded the dish I had ordered and paid for. I gave my companion the mistake meal (as she hadn’t ordered anything yet), but it was some time before they delivered the correct one. When my grilled barramundi arrived, I remarked, “FINALLY!” just to hint to the girl that this was not acceptable. Do you think I was too subtle?
Sincerely, Fishwife
Dear Fishwife,
I guess all that time on your broomstick really affects the old senses, huh? Well luckily for you, I happen to know exactly why this mishap occurred. Did you notice, dear lady, that there were people sitting at the table next to you? No? Then I don’t suppose you noticed that they were… missing a meal?
That’s right, you dumb old bint. Your greedy friend sat there and stuffed her fat face with SOMEONE ELSE’S MEAL. Your order arrived precisely when it should have (“FINALLY!” my blue feathered arse). But someone else had to wait an inordinate amount of time for their food because you’re too senile to say something sensible like, “No, I ordered the grilled barramundi, perhaps this is not mine.” It’s a fish and chip shop, for fuck’s sake. You don’t just assume that whatever comes over the counter is yours, then stuff it down your friend’s gob if it isn’t. Although that would explain her generous proportions. Maybe instead of pissing off the general public at fish and chipperies, you guys should build a giant gingerbread house and attract your next meal in that fashion. Make sure the oven is nice and big, now!
Sincerely, Gatsby
Dear Gatsby,
I am a high-ranking faculty member of a city-based learning institution, who frequents certain bars with my colleagues. On one such visit, I ordered a glass of wine. I noticed that the bartender poured up to a certain line on the glass, but for a woman on the other side of the bar the wine was poured at a higher level. I inquired about the discrepancy. After several exchanges, I realised that the woman had simply been given more wine than me because she was a regular, and I was outraged. I promptly composed a wordy complaint to the proprietor, full of personal attacks and paltry accusations, in an attempt to have the insolent bartender fired. I then referred the matter to an even higher-ranking faculty member, who apparently has nothing better to do, and he personally called a meeting with the owner on my behalf. The owner has since placated me with an apology and a bottle of wine. Do you think I succeeded?
Sincerely, Professor Petty
Dear Professor Petty,
It is quite a feat to have reached your station in life and still be nothing but a worthless wank-stain on society. Congratulations, pin-dick! You do realise you unleashed this ludicrous theatrical shit-storm over one centimetre of wine? Is your work and life so utterly devoid of meaning that you would seek to destroy someone else’s over something so unbelievably trivial? Of course it is, you pathetic excuse for a vertebrate. I’m a more worthwhile person than you, and I’m a two-year-old budgerigar.
Here’s what I don’t get about you, and other turds like you: academics who in the same breath they trumpet on about social justice, treat servers like absolute shit. Often servers are earning lower than the lowest threshold, are something other than White and Christian and Upper-Middle-Class, are working their arses off to put themselves through the same undergraduate degree you earned back in the day, or are people who are just being people. You’re more than happy to use them as statistics in your latest self-righteous paper, but you get enraged over a standard glass of wine and shit on them by trying your darndest (wasting company time in the process) to make them lose their livelihoods and royally fuck up their lives. Smells like privilege, don’t you think?
Oh, and just so you know. The bartender didn’t lose his job for pouring you a standard glass (his wife and baby will be happy to hear that) but he did lose hope in humanity, and the entire staff body has developed a healthy suspicion of anybody associated with the institution you represented so crappily. Well done, Professor Petty, you upstanding mothball-scented citizen.
Don’t worry, next time your wineglass will be filled to the brim – with spit. On the house!
Sincerely, Gatsby
Dear Gatsby,
My boyfriend and I had just finished a hard day of wandering around Windsor’s shopping precinct, and we decided to pop into a nice-looking restaurant for a cup of tea. Unfortunately, while we were waiting for our order, we noticed the terrible music! We asked the waitress to change it. It was still unbearable! We asked her to change it again. The next song was just as bad! Finally we walked out without paying, snapping, “We just want to drink our tea in peace.” Can you believe that place?
Sincerely, Searching For Zen
Dear Searching For Zen,
Here’s an idea, you whiny little bitch. Go to a fucking supermarket, buy some fucking tea, and go the fuck home where you can control your surroundings to your heart’s fucking content. That way, you get to pick the music, and only your equally-miserable boyfriend has to see your face. Win-win! Don’t go out to restaurants and demand every aspect of the environment to meet your every idiotic whim. Who the fuck do you think you are, Jesus? No-one’s going to lose sleep over losing your patronage since the other less-obnoxious customers were actually spending more than $4.
Even if the music in a restaurant is not your cup of tea (see what I fucking did there?) this is the kind of thing you can discern BEFORE you sit down and order. That is, unless your sense of entitlement is so disproportionately huge that if it was made of seeds it would eliminate World Budgie Hunger (an issue close to my heart). A useful exercise you might like to try in future is to put on your Listening Cap before you waste everybody’s time with some irrational tantrum after you’ve sat down in a restaurant and ordered. Fucking crybaby.
Sincerely, Gatsby
Well hospo kids, it's been real. But for some reason, whenever I chew the tasty, tasty power cord on my mum's laptop, the thing craps out on me, so I better go. Catch you on the flipside!
Gatsby
