Kombucha, Cheese & Social Hostage Circle Jerking
“The only reason why we ask other people how their weekend was is so we can tell them about our own weekend.”
It's not until you arrive at random's doorstep that you can really appreciate just how infinite the second to second possibilities are in wondering..
What in the actual fuck was that?
I find myself in a perpetual internal struggle of longing to be a loving and productive member of society while still being a dick...and just plain being a dick. Like, I'm amidst a halo and a pair of horns on either shoulder when it comes to every social interaction. It's not even like it's a 50/50 spread. I made a hostess cry by telling her she drew her eyebrows on unevenly one day. I get how that can hurt coming from someone such as myself with 'brows like these, but to be fair she tried to come at me hard about a table being sat. And I felt badish, really. I think I apologized months later, or wanted to. Something like that. I digress.
What I'm getting at is that I really love people! We're all intricate systems of biology, so complex that despite it being 2017 and having actual scientific theories that we may all be living in a simulation akin to the Matrix, or the juiced to the tits version of an MMORPG, we still don't fucking understand consciousness. Think about that for a second, because we spend the majority of our lives uncovering information that has already been discovered. There is unknown shit out there. Mind boggling to try and comprehend that which hasn't been comprehended. And you'll never understand everything anyways. I'm still trying to figure out how the fuck to feign interest in the weather, let alone grasp the Fibonacci sequence.
I want to be that person that has casual conversations with strangers. It sounds nice. But...I've learned time and time again that I'm just not that dude. The majority of my day to day is spent having contrived conversations; completely disingenuous in what details I give up about myself. Most of my responses are the equivalent of playing possum and hoping that the predator leaves me the fuck alone.
Uh huh. Oh yeah? Wow. That's rough. Uh huh. Well, you know. Yeah. Uh huh. That's crazy!
And then I fucking vanish in a puff of smoke. Poof. Peace. I got other headaches to deal with.
So anyways, I'm healthy as fuck. I drink this shit called Kombucha. Now. I've done enough research on it to be able to tell mu'fuckas who don't know what it is, what I think it is. Essentially, Kombucha is a fermented tea that has various vitamins and bacterial cultures that aid in gut and intestinal health, which translates to immune system health, neural health, more energy, and ultimately really, really healthy poops. Shout out to GT's Kombucha. I drink one of your products everyday. The black label shit at that, because everything I consume should give at least a miniscule risk of failing a sobriety test. The Grape one is the business, and while the Multi-Green one tastes like fermented grass marinated in cat piss, it leaves me feeling marvelous. I'm thinking sponsorship opportunities here. Think about it, we'll be like a poor, homeless, decrepit mans version of Gatorade and the NBA. Call me. I digress.
So on Tuesday nights, my girlfriend and I stop by Whole Foods to stock up on a weeks worth of Kombucha. Miraculously enough, my girlfriend acquired a taste for the stuff. Or, just really like the poops it gives her. Whatever, if you guide the horse to water and it drinks it just because it went on an oats and booze binge the night before, does it really matter if it's not doing it out of health? She's not big on sweets, so she naturally took a liking to the more tart and mild flavors. Citrus, in particular. Haven't been able to find this flavor for a few weeks now. This time around, an overly energetic and bubbly Whole Foods employee approached us with a shovel to cram customer service down our dislocated jaws. Ahhh, fuck.
So we both put on our happy faces. She's better at it than I am. Lady asks if we're finding everything ok, blah blah blah. Took the opportunity to ask about the Citrus flavored Kombucha. Lady points to the Lemonade flavored one. My girlfriend finds a way to politely disagree in a way that we in the industry can only describe as the "Oh, I must be wrong. I mean, I've worked here for five years, six days a week, 9 hours a day, and I've never seen us serve ribs, but you're probably right that you had the ribs here last time." My girlfriend has had the Lemonade one. And she's had the Citrus one. The lady says that it was rebranded and the Citrus just has a different name now. Lemonade. Look, we get it. I gave a beer to a lady the other night that was not what she ordered because we had ran out of it and I gave her the next closest thing. Look, I was busy and didn't have the precious seconds to ultimately arrive at the same conclusion. She won't know, she won't remember, and either way she'll get her ingestion of alcohol so she can bring herself to fuck her disgusting husband later. I see no foul.
Best part after this uncomfortable exchange, my girlfriend looks at me and has the same yeeeah, whatever bitch, I know what you're doing response that I was silently thinking the whole time. We bought the Lemonade one. That lady told a bold faced lie. Good for her, we would have done the same.
Afterward we figured, when in Rome, practice impulse consumerism. We usually peruse the cheese selection at Whole Foods when given the chance. Not trying to sound pretentious by any means, we just like good cheese. We also like Jäger bombs, so don't read too much into this shit. That's that Bashas perusing shit, by the way. My girlfriends a big sharp cheddar fan, and there's a 10 year-aged Irish cheddar that you can normally find there that is the cow's tits. This time apparently, they weren't doing the smaller cuts for $6. You had to buy the block for $48. Hah! Sorry. She also likes kraft chemical cheese slices so you're S.O.L. on this one Whole Foods. Before we could continue looking though, our social bubble received yet more unwanted penetration. This time from strangers that didn't even work there.
This couple starts showing signs of interest. Out of our peripherals, we can see their awkward attempt at eye contact. Looking for an "in" to any conversation possible. If I had to guess, the cogs turning in their heads sounded something like this...
"It's Arizona in December, at night time...the weather can't be that mentionable...that gentleman (me) looks gay...don't bring up Trump...that lady's looking at cheese...I'm looking at cheese...no, that's too easy...wait, what the fuck is that on the ground?"
Fuck. The basket of Kombuchas...and fuck you dickhead, this shirt is awesome.
"That's a lot of...those, you got there...are they good? My wife, she's pregnant, can she drink those?"
Both our heads begrudgingly turn.
Yeah...I mean, maybe not. These ones have the black label, which means...ok, so, Kombucha is a fermented tea that has various vitamins and bacterial cultures tha-
"Cool, cool. My wife, she's pregnant."
"I'm pregnant!"
Oh, congratulations...how far alo-
"Yes, so I don't know. What kind of cheese do you like? We are looking for a Kerrygold cheddar. She loves Kerrygold cheddar."
"I love it."
Oh, she's the one that really likes Cheddar. Yeah...pushed this awkward exchange right into my girlfriend's lap. She's a pro, it'll be ok. "Well, there's this Kerrygold aged Irish whisky cheddar that is amazing. We tried this stout one, but it wasn't as good. But this one is th-"
"Yeah, we're from Israel. Expecting our child in six months, and I'm a manager at Verizon over on blah, blah, blah, blah for the last two years, and we can normally find Kerrygold cheddar here."
"I love it."
"What do you two do?"
We're servers at...
Insert a repetitive series of questions, answers and pleasantries about where we are, what kind of food it is, how is the place - essentially the same verbal garbage I spew out every other day except this time, we aren't being paid for this shit.
...and we manage as well. It's a nice spot, you guys shou-
"We're new to the area. Where is it? "
One...fuck you, I could have just sworn you mentioned that you had been here for two years. What the fuck is your definition of new. Two, your oddly pregnant and oily Mediterranean girlfriend/baby 'mama/wife has had the most pain-staking smile on this entire time and has essentially acted as a parrot. Throw this bitch a cracker already. Three, we have already ended up in the most cliché of roles where my girlfriend is trying to humor your wife, and I'm slowly slipping out of consciousness just trying to explain the cliff notes of my already really short bullshit story I give dickheads like yourself. Both my girlfriend and I's genitals already hurt from blowing our respective loads of shits given. Plus, how long can my asshole tendencies be held back and not mention Palestine at least once?! Gaza strip brawl in the cheese section of Whole Foods, anyone?! No? Poor taste? Then they hit us with this shoddy rocket bomb of a statement.
"So once the baby is born and I go on paternity leave...I may not go back. Might retire. We're in our late 20's and the plan was to leave Israel and relax. That's what you do here, you know?"
Uh...
I at this point was having a hard time processing this. I had to have heard wrong. I'm looking at my girlfriend for answers. She's doing the same thing to me. We had nothing, people. Nothing. For fucks sake, store manager for Verizon? Is this what my overage fees went to?!
That's when Miss. Kerrygold lovin' ass spoke up.
"What's your guys' plan to retire in your 20s?"
Oh, now you got sentences bitch. Alright.
Uh...we take it day by day? That was my answer. I had nothin'. Glad this shit is the Hamptons to you, but the rest of us are treating this like Detroit. What's my solution for early retirement? Robbing your ridiculous ass. Seriously. Lets have dinner! Where do you live? We brought refillable bags for these Kombuchas for the $4 discount. Delicious product at an affordable price. Retirement in your 20s. Mother fucker, I'm trying to hustle for GT's Kombucha sponsorship money for my shitty blog. Retirement in your 20s. Preposterously rude. Grab the cheap cheese babe, we're out.
Needless to say, they lost interest in us shortly after. My girlfriend even noticed how artificial the conversation was, that it seemed like they were only trying to sell us something. Going back to the quote I began all of this with, I can't help but feel this was a prime example of a bizarre instance of societal circle jerking. A peacocking of flashy feathers with little substance. Or, maybe just not a desired substance. We discussed afterward how much we hated our ability to bullshit people. Either of us could have easily told these conversational peddlers to politely fuck off. But, we didn't. Maybe for a split second, it felt normal. Like what was expected of us.
But...expectations at the end of the day are just preconceived notions of what's ideal. Nothing more, nothing less.
2017 sauce...
Brought to you by GT's Kombucha. Shit clean, my friends.
