Wednesday, 29 June 2011
I lived in Florida -- one of the states progressives had great hopes for -- for a lot of this bullshit.
I was managing a donut shop. (Don't ask.) Arguments raged. Everything Rachel talks about: unisex bathrooms, homosectuals' rights, women in combat, destruction of the fambly. . .
My assistant manager was 20, looked 12. She had thick blond hair she wore in braids. She was living with another employee that most customers knew and liked. (They were engaged, so it was mostly OK.)
She also had the absolute best stupid deadpan I've ever seen on a non-professional actor. I used to send her out to deal with angry customers. They'd be raving about something, she'd listen, nod sympathetically, tell them how sorry she was, and they'd immediately calm down.
She looked like a really dumb Heidi. Who could argue with a really dumb Heidi?
One day, the bathroom issue was being debated.
She interrupted: 'I don't get it.' People stopped to listen. 'Larry and I share a bathroom. What's wrong with that?'
Silence. The rednecks looked at each other and realized what dipshits they were being.
She made it back into the kitchen before exploding into giggles.
I wonder what the arguments will be this time. . .