"You're pretty so you can stay"
Dagens inlägg är egentligen inte så mycket av ett inlägg utan snarare ett återberättande av något som hände mig igår. Jag vet inte ens varför jag väljer att dela detta med er. Men hur som helst, eftersom hela konversationen var på engelska känns det rätt onödigt att översätta. Så för er som har en minut över vill jag här skildra en helt vanlig kväll i Beatrice Hjelms nya, glamorösa liv:
Sunday was a crazy day at Guilty Monkey, we catered 60 bread buns to a war veterans super-bowl grill (and note that what I have to work with is 1 gas oven and 1 small pedestal mixer) and, a classic Swedish strawberry cake for a birthday, both in the same day, which just happened to be our busiest day so far (full house, all day from 7:30 in the morning)! Super-bowl of course means heavy drinking, and, as I learned when I was getting off my 16-hour shift covered in sweat and flour, followed by what seemed to be a collective loss of human decency. Let me give you an example of one of the many unpleasant conversations I found myself in:
A well-oiled American of the southern variety decided this was the night that I deserved to hear some of his "truths". Here's how this conversation went down (as this wasted individual was getting into his truck, I might add):
Me: Hi there, how are you? I haven’t seen you in a while. Yes, so we're open now! So exiting! You should come and have breakfast some day
Man: I don't eat breakfast
Me: Well, you should come and have lunch then
Man: I don’t eat lunch
Me (joking and smiling although I now start to realize that this conversation is about to take an ugly turn): well, then I guess you’re gonna say you don't drink coffee either
Man (now leaning in to make sure I won't miss any of his very vital pointers): I would never order anything at a place like yours, not with that menu.
Above my head is a blackboard featuring some of the items on our menu. For example: Eggs & bacon with home baked bread 62:-, Yogurt with homemade granola, banana and chia seeds 52:-, Grilled turkey, pesto and mozzarella sandwich 72:-... and so on. I.e. nothing weird.
Me: Well... That's actually not our whole menu, would you like to look at it?
Man: No, I don't want to see your menu. Your place is gonna be gone in a couple of months, you'll never make it here. Your concept, like your menu is awful. I've lived here 11 years and I've seen places like yours before, you're going to fail.
Me: If you’re so sure that I will fail than why don't you help me by telling me what it is that I am doing wrong? Man: I'll let you find that out for yourself. I mean, you’re pretty so you can stay but your place will shut down soon.
This conversation lasted for another 15 minutes, during which I almost started crying (can you imagine how humiliating that would have been - oh, he would have loved that) until finally the insolent asshole took his mean and spiteful bullshit and drove away. I'm not sure what sick kick a grown man gets from bullying a "pretty girl" like me, but he looked appallingly smug as he maneuvered his truck away from our modest little cafe, probably high fiving himself in the car.
So here's a tip for all of you who secretly prey on the misfortunes or pain suffered by others; if you haven’t got anything nice to say then don't say anything at all. Nobody wants to hear your "truths". They are the reasons people don't like you. Enough said.