For the record, butter comes from cream, cream comes from milk and milk…MOO…comes from cows.
I tried getting Elsie on the phone to comment, but she’s not taking calls.
I went to Le Pain Quotidian like I do every Sunday to get one of their plain, Kaiser rolls that I’ll admit, have no nutritional value whatsoever, but it’s Sunday, so who cares.
As an aside, Sunday is my day of putting all my worries on top of the fridge leaving them there until Monday morning, and that includes tallying fat grams. That’s why I said to the portly woman waiting on me who, by the size of her, should really understand, if rather than one could I have two butters for my big, fat roll to go.
“Two butters?” she said, seemingly shocked by my request.
“Yes, two…I want to lather it on both sides,” I said, with a wink.
She stared at me as if I asked for a kidney.
“Is there a problem?” I was getting impatient since I had to pee.
“We only give one butter per roll.”
“Yes I know that, and it’s not enough which is why I’m asking for two.”
This seemed to throw her as if at the end of her shift she’d be short one and how will she explain it to her boss who might even have a bigger butter fetish than she has.
I just cut to the chase.
“Are you going to give me another butter or not?”
“What if I don’t?” Her snappy retort clipped me like BB gun.
“I won’t be a very satisfied customer, that’s for sure, nor will I enjoy my roll half as much.”
Did she just yawn?
I realized how insane it was to even be having this exchange, but nutty Thingirl held firm.
This is when she deserved a smack.
“Why don’t you just go buy some butter instead of exploiting ours.”
I have never heard of butter, or anything dairy except maybe Elsie herself, being exploited. I had visions of her being milked then having to churn it all before packaging it without as much as a coffee break. Should I run home to get Tubby the Tuba my thesaurus so she could choose a more appropriate word? Meanwhile, my bladder was about to burst.
“Just a minute,” I said, galloping to the ladies room, an apt description since I peed like a racehorse. On exiting, I asked a busboy I knew, what’s with the butter business? And he said, “She’s trying to impress the manager…we all hate her.”
So she’s trying to butter him up, if you will, with my extra butter.
Nothing like an empty bladder to make you think more rationally of one’s rations.
I simply asked the busboy for more butter who, not only complied, but gave me 6, and threw in another roll…for my trouble, he said.
As I took leave I called out, “Have a good day withholding butter from good, loyal customers.”
I would have rather said, “Hey fatso, it’s who ya know,” but held my tongue.