As always, names will be changed for privacy, and details are changed for relevancy.
As always, this is for entertainment, not to be offensive.
So here we go:
Most of the time when I’m out in public, I try not to act like a complete asshole. Honestly I don’t. Sometimes, it just kind of happens. I compare it to the hulk, but instead of getting really angry, I say sarcastic and dick things. It’s usually never intentional, I just say what comes to my mind without thinking twice; I can’t control it. It is a rare occasion when I set out to be an asshole just for the sake of being an asshole.
And then there was last Saturday night.
Let me paint this pretty little picture for you.
My parents decided that for my birthday they would take me out to dinner. Great, awesome. I love food, especially when I don’t have to pay for it. So my parents ask me what I want for my birthday dinner and respond with the only obvious choice, Chipotle.
Now at this point, some of you may be asking yourself, why the fuck did he chose chipotle? I chose chipotle because IT’S THE GREATEST FUCKING FOOD EVER. I mean, have you had a burrito bowl before? It’s an orgasm in your mouth. I consider the people who work at chipotle little Mexican angels, whose sole purpose in life is to make sure each one of my taste buds tingle with joy. I mean, there’s a reason Mexicans always see the Virgin Mary in their food, it’s because it’s made in heaven.
So ok, simple request right? I just want some delicious chipotle for my birthday, that is all. But my parents have a little different idea. They decide that they want to take me out to this expensive hip restaurant in Baltimore. As a result, this conversation takes place:
Shaun: Hey so you’re getting me chipotle on Saturday right?
Egg Provider: No, we want to go to this really nice restaurant in Baltimore that the sperm donor and I went out to. It’s really good, you’ll love it.
EP: No trust us, you’ll love it
It’s at this exact moment I decide that I will act like a dick for the entire night. I felt I have been wronged, and I am Shaun Harrison. I have a blog. People love me. You can’t wrong me without there being consequences.
Sorry EG and SD, I love you both to death, but I want chipotle. Prepare for war.
We arrive at said restaurant, and as soon as I walk in, I already know that this is going to be good. Why?
There isn’t a single non-white person in the entire restaurant.
Why is this good?
White people hate confrontation.
Why is this good for me?
To make everyone around me uncomfortable, so that I win.
Winner winner, chicken dinner.
We sit, and I start to eavesdrop on other peoples conversations, since the tables are so close together that you can practically hear everyone around you breathe. Here are sample conversations:
“Well John, I’m not so sure. I really like the rush I feel when white water rafting, but nothing can beat the adrenaline rush of hiking up a green hill side.”
“Yes Jim, that’s exactly why I got a prius. I really want to reduce my carbon footprint.”
It goes on and on like that. After listening to this, I realize I’m dealing with the worst kind of white people; the liberal artsy types. The kind who live off their parents trust funds, and do absolutely nothing but jerk off to images of a bunch of people holding hands in a clean river while listening to Moby. Or Dave Matthews band. Or John Mayer. Or snoop dog. Or whatever else white people listen to.
Seriously snoop, a track with Katy Perry? With a rhyme that is “Wow wow west coast, these are the girls I love the most?”
The 5-year-old boy I have tied up in my basement can come up with a better rhyme than that.
Just kidding, I don’t have a 5 year old tied up in my basement.
He’s in the attic.
So anyway, our waiter comes, and I haven’t once looked at the menu because I was so appalled by the conversations around me. I look down, and I notice that I have no idea what any of the ingredients are, why there are like 8 menus, and why half the words aren’t in english.
So I say to the waiter, what would you recommend?
Then he goes on and on about these scallops, how delicious they are blah blah fuck. So I say great, how many scallops does it come with.
Shaun- “I’m sorry, what?”
Waiter- “It comes with three scallops”
Now normally, I would not try to be an asshole, but since a bunch of liberal art crackers are within an earshot, and I’m mad at my parents, this happens:
Shaun- “Don’t you think that’s. I don’t know. Tiny?”
Waiter- “Well sir, we bring out a bunch of different small dishes so you can sample a variety of different tastes by the end of the night. It’s a new concept in a lot of newer restaurants.”
Shaun- “I’m sorry, concept? I don’t like being served bullshit sir, I’ll have something else.”
Waiter- *laughs nervously*
Shaun- “Ok what about the chicken. How many dead baby chickens did you have to slaughter for this? I’m assuming not much, because of your anorexic concept correct.”
Waiter- “Sir, I beg your pardon?”
Shaun- “The sauce on this dead baby chicken dish, how is it prepared? Do you provide the seamen for the sauce, or do I have to use my own?” I’m fully prepared to use my own.”
Oh boy, did shit hit the fan on that one. My parents gave me death stares. I hear the liberal arts honkeys gasp aloud. The waiter ignores me for the rest of the night. Surprisingly, there are no real consequences.
Later in conversation, my parents discuss getting the hpv shot for the one who is related. You know the vaccine for cervical cancer or whatever. So I say at a volume that a deaf midget can hear( you know, since sound waves go right over their tiny leprechaun heads)
Shaun – OH, THE ONE WHO IS RELATED, YOURE GETTING YOUR HERPIES SHOT? TO STOP YOUR HERPIES OUTBREAKS? THANK THE LORD! I WAS SCARED I WAS GOING TO CONTRACT THEM FROM SITTING ON THE TOILET AFTER YOU!”
The white people are staring. I see one whisper to the waiter, then point at me. This can’t be good.
The only person laughing is six flags. Six flags is my grandpa, and he looks just like the old dude off the six flags commercial. I would write more about him, but im devoting an entire essay to him later.
Some guy in a nice suit comes to our table. I assume the manager.
Manager- Sir, the guests have been complaining. Im giving you two options. Leave on your own, or be escorted out.
Well, I can see where I am not wanted.
I get up from the table, scoot by every white person sitting down, making sure I rub my tiny white dick against their backs. You know, just in case I do have herpes.
I leave, then go straight to chipotle. When I get there I say to the hombre
“Boy, am I glad to see you, you have no idea what I had to go through to get here.”
Angel- “Extra meat? Black or pinto beans?”
“I like where your head’s at Pablo, I would love some extra meat.”
I always do.