Unrelated news: I’ve decided to start a FundAnything campaign to fund an IndieGogo project to kickstart a Kickstarter for my new crowdfunding site, “CrowdSourceYourCrowdFundingSite.com.” And if you believe that, I’d like to introduce you to my recursively-taught course, “Recursions in Recursivity.”
Anyway, I had a guest today who stated she was allergic to “bony fish” but not other types of “fish.” How about sharks? Eels? No? Only bony fish? Okay. This is officially starting to get ridiculous. I didn’t know I needed a PhD in Zoology with a B.S. in Botany and an M.D. in Allergic Medicine, all along with a Psych. Doctorate in Hypochondria and a minor in Munchhausen-by-Proxy, to be a lunch server at a mid-upper-range restaurant in South Newport Beach. Not a single day passes where someone doesn’t tell me about some exotic new allergy they have. “I’m allergic to green almonds but not marcoma almonds.” “If you blanch your spinach in canola oil, I’ll die, but if you it’s sauteed in peanut oil, I’ll actually live an extra year.” “As long as your sourdough bread is never stored in the same room as wheat bread, my throat won’t close up and choke me.” “If I even see a drawing of a pig, I’ll turn into a werewolf. Seriously. Reading Animal Farm gave me lupus.”
Okay. First of all, too much information. I don’t want to know and I could not care less. That means that on a scale of how much I could care, I am at the bottom and cannot care any less because caring less is literally impossible. Second, you just said you have gluten and dairy allergies and just ate about 700 calories worth of bread and butter. And finally, no, you don’t really have an allergy. You have an aversion. I have an aversion to heavy (120+ pound) girls; it’s not an allergy. I have an aversion to progressive rock, Phish, and country music. It’s not an allergy. I know you failed out of your remedial English course but you know what the word allergy means. Seriously. English is my second language and I’m teaching you about semantics and vocabulary?
I had another guest today ask me “what kind of cream” is our coffee cream. Seriously? Are we some sort of insane restaurant that puts goat cream in our milk? It’s cream made from my own personal male breast milk. Happy now? And exactly what answer were you hoping for? Here’s the solution: skip the cream in your coffee. It’s the last thing you need. In fact, skip this entire meal. From your body fat, you seem like you’re certainly not allergic to anything. So there is that.
Hmmm…..let’s see. Let’s see. Had another guest ask if our rice is Indica or Japonica…..asked if our beans were Inferior or Superior…..had a guest tell me to make sure that none of her food touched any cephalapods, though gastropods were okay…..had to basically diagram the molecular structure of our sauces to a guest, as if I were Niels Bohr…..etc., etc. And it’s so funny how I never heard about any of these allergies until I started working in Newport Beach. I’ve only heard of peanut and shellfish allergies and lactose intolerance. Intolerance, not allergies. Like you’re intolerant of tipping more than 16%. Douche.
Here’s the thing: if Darwin’s not on your side, I don’t know what to do for you. Some of us are to destined to naturally survive and prosper and some of us–you, really, I guess–are meant to be selected out of existence. It’s harsh but it’s true. So you can either get on board with the rest of the human race and get over your out-of-control hypochondria, or you can continue to let your anxieties ruin all your experiences. You can spend the rest of your inheritance (as I know you’ve never worked a day in your life, as you’re allergic to work) on meals you enjoy or meals you fear. The choice is yours. And oh, here’s your deep-fried peanut-butter-and-shrimp-cheese-melt sandwich. Enjoy. Douche.