On the night that I met the biggest asshole on the face of the planet, the room was filled with people who all thought my life's purpose was to serve them and only them. The audience for this particular show was full of old money. Like really old money. We're talking Carnegie's and Rockefeller's sitting in my presence. These people are used to butlers, maids, slaves and peons who wipe their asses for them and then fold up the toilet paper into origami shapes and flush it down golden toilets. So many of them ordered drinks and they expected them to be there immediately like I was a goddamn I Dream of Jeannie. It was very frustrating to be nice to people who treated me like dirt because I was wearing some hand me down black shirt that was taken from a Broadway show after it closed and some Gap pants. With all their finery and jewels, I could sense their distaste for my general poorness.
Table 20 was seated with two people. One was Mr. Asshole of the Year and he was joined by a lady friend all dressed in white. With her white pants and top on her skinny frame and a tuft of frizzy white hair she looked like tampon. An old rich tampon. This was a woman who also demanded a chair to sit in while she waited for the room to be opened and when one wasn't brought fast enough, she took the stool that the host sits on. She wanted it, therefore, she took it. Fucking Tampon Bitch. She ordered a Kir Royal, because that's what fancy rich bitches who look like tampons order. She had her obligatory second beverage halfway through the show, so I assumed she was done. When the show was over, I brought her check to her and she asked me if she could have another Kir Royal. Of course I said yes, because I had no problem adding another$13 to her bill. "How long is it going to take to get it?" she asked.
"Just a few minutes." At this, she threw her hands up in exasperation and rolled her eyes. Bitch acted like I told her it was going to take 40 days and 40 nights. "I have to go get it, you know." I went right to the bar and asked the bartender to make another one explaining that it would be rung into the computer shortly. He made it and within 90 seconds I was walking back to Tampon Bitch who had already gotten up and was walking towards me to pay her check, which was short one Kir Royal, by the way. "Here's your cocktail, ma'am."
Again, she threw her hands up in exasperation and said, "Well, I didn't know it was going to be that fast, now I'm not ready!" Wait, what? Did she just complain that it was going to take too long and now she was complaining that it came too fast? I tried to hand her the drink since she was no longer sitting at her table and she yelled at me to hold it for a minute while she got her credit card out because she needed to pay right away since she was in a big hurry. I can't imagine what she was in a rush to go do. Perhaps it was time for her maid to re-fluff her hair or she had to go eat the heart of a baby, I dunno. I gave her a new check with the third cocktail on it and swiped her card. Since she refused to sit down at a table, she demanded that I hold the check presenter so she could sign it but only after I went over everything that was on the check. Apparently, Tampon Bitch didn't have her reading glasses with her. She scratched out a signature, added the 15%, grabbed her Kir Royal and moved on.
I don't understand so many rich people. How do they get through their lives constantly stepping on people and treating them so horribly? If karma is indeed a bitch, this woman will surely have some misery in her life. She probably already does. I suppose that going through life with a pocketbook full of money is a small consolation when every time you look in the mirror, all you see is a big old fucking grumpy ass tampon staring back at you.
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