As a resident of the big city, I feel it is my right to look down upon the closely-held core beliefs of small town folk.
If they didn’t want me thinking I’m better than them, they shouldn’t have decided to believe in God or America or whatever, right? That’s how I feel.
So you can imagine my rage when I was traveling in the south last year with my lover when we stopped in for a few laughs at a local Shoney’s. If you don’t know, Shoney’s is like Denny’s 20 years ago before they tried to class things up and a a jukebox and neon signs and teeth on their waitresses.
It’s a shit hole and we thought we would talk down to the waitress, take a few pictures of poor people and be on our way, so you can imagine our shock when the hostess informed us that we could not sit in a booth. Booths were reserved for parties of three or more.
My first instinct was to call this woman’s husband and pay him fifty bucks to punch her in the cooter, but luckily, cooler heads prevailed. I put on my least offensive southern accent (which is still pretty offensive,) and informed this young woman that’s what we were: a party of three.
She then said we would have to wait to be seated until all of our party had arrived and I shot back that we had.
She gave me a blank look and I swear I saw her lips moving as she counted in her head.
I clucked my tongue and said, “Shame on you, girl!” I am talking about me, my paramour and the Holy Spirit!”
Once she replied that Jesus didn’t count, I had her!
I held up a hand to my forehead as if I was feeling faint and repeated her words loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear: “Did you just say Jesus does’t count!?!”
Taking my lead, my life partner made the sign of the cross or a reasonable facsimile thereof and grabbed my arm to lend me support.
By this time, the manger had come over to see what all the commotion was about. I recounted the tale and explained that I would be sure to tweet this incident to all 50,000 of my loyal ministry followers unless he seated us in his biggest booth, comped our meals and fired this hell-bound Jezebel immediately.
So what do you think this inbred, redneck mouth breather did?
He saw right through me and called my bluff.
But once I started crying and peeing in my pants, we settled on free mozzarella sticks to go and her taking the rest of the afternoon off early because it was slow anyway!
Score one for the big city!