Food For The Game

The game of submission and dominance is ambient. I ain't making it up. Look around. The amount of time someone takes before answering a question. Asking someone to clarify a remark. Expansive gestures with the arms and hands when speaking. Eye contact when speaking to someone. And we oscillate between the two roles, depending on the social context.

Sometimes, the role we play depends on our job.You know like waiters, waitresses,and cooks are in submissive roles to the patron. They cook food according to your oft ill-conceived preference and bring it to you. And the waiter, or waitress, will ask you if there is anything else you need. And with a smugness that's out of place at an IHOP, you'll say "No, I think I have everything I need for now. Thanks." At the grocery store, the cashier checks out your groceries, bags your groceries, gives you a receipt and then asks if you need help out to your car.

And you need a vicious ass kicking if you're rude to these people. They don't owe you shit. They're doing their job. Just because your husband gave you a dose of the clap, doesn't mean you're entitled to get all cunty with your waiter. Just because your wife snorts a gram before lunch and washes it down with a liter of vodka as a warmup to giving the pool boy the reverse cowgirl, doesn't mean you can be an asshole to someone who only wants to know if you want paper or plastic. But some just don't get it.

She smelled like Wal-mart. You know that smell. She looked to be somewhere around 20. She was in the neighborhood of 5'4" with fat rolls spilling over the top of her too tight pants. You know the ones that have ties at the bottom of the pant leg. She had a pair of black flip flops that looked two summers old. A white t-shirt designed to show off a moderately impressive chest,but I wonder if she intended to let the world know she was wearing a yellow bra. Her face is hard to describe, but if you can picture a Cabbage Patch doll aged 20 years, then you got her. Oh, and she had that skunk hairdo thing you see people wearing now. You know, black and blonde. She topped this hot, steaming mess off with a diva attitude.

"Did you find everything you need," the cashier asked.

"Not really, but that's just the deal here."

"Is there something that I can help with?"

"Doubtful. Just hurry, please." She looked at me and rolled her eyes. My disgust was stirring.

When the cashier finished ringing up her groceries, she began bagging them.

"Be sure to double bags those. You guys don't do it if I don't tell you." The cashier, her name tag read "Maggie," didn't respond, but double bagged the groceries. When she finished, she printed the receipt and handed it to Helmsley.

"Would you like some help out," the cashier managed to smile, even.

"Yes, actually," Helmsley said. She had two bags. One had some feminine items in it, you know what I'm talking about. And the other had about four packages of Ramen Noodles.. The cashier motioned to someone bagging in another line and tells him that, "This lady needs some help out." The guy paused, looked Helmsley up and down, smiled in a way that seemed to say, "You can't be serious," shrugged, and hefted her bags out to her car. I ain't making it up.