This week, I landed my first job in about four months. To celebrate, I went out to eat lunch my first day on the job. This is when I discovered the second definition of the word “rape.”
I’m not talking, “Dude, I raped you in Madden.” I wish...getting raped in Madden sounds so good, right now.
There’s the actual definition, and then there’s getting charged $17.50 for two bagel sandwiches at Bagel Sam’s in Larchmont. Whoa, Bagel Sam. Those are airport prices.
Bagel Sam even has the balls to ask if I want “mustard and mayo” with that. I’m paying $17.50 for two bagels, and you have to ASK if I want that? Mustard and mayo are popular fucking condiments. Included in my raping of twenty bucks for lunch should be Bagel Sam having the wherewithal to do some research on the eating habits of his customers.
Know your shit. If I was a hot dog vendor, I wouldn’t ask my customers if they wanted ketchup. Now, I’m pretty much paying twenty five bucks for two bagels, due to the five-dollar fiscal equivalent of the mental pain caused by having to answer Bagel Sam’s dumb-ass question.
Thanks, Bagel Sam. For reminding me of your horrible rape even when I’m back at work. Thanks for giving me an hour-long bathroom break so I could relieve myself of all the turkey you stuffed in my bagel, because you felt like you had to make it well since you charged me damn near thirty fucking dollars so my girlfriend and I could have a simple lunch.
Instead, we got raped. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.