Being that it was my birthday last week, I figured that I was due for yet another obligatory encounter with a fuck-head who goes out of their way to piss me off with their mindless, self-important views. That’s how my life works, usually.
I decided to invite a few people over last Thursday for some beers and movie-watching. Nothing major, just three friends and three co-workers. One of my co-workers asked to bring his new girlfriend along, which I said was fine.
So we all sat around for a few hours drinking, telling stories, and discussing whatever random subject came up. A very casual and laid-back time, which I thought was appropiate given my 29th birthday was the next day and my desire for beer-bongs and strip poker is only occasional as of late.
Around 3am, I got a bit hungry. Everyone else said they wouldn’t mind a bit of food either, so I put a couple of frozen pizzas in the oven for them and made a bacon sandwich for myself.
I returned to the living room with my sandwich, and began to eat it very slowly.
My co-workers girlfriend looked over with distaste. “What is that, a bacon sandwich?” she asked haughtily.
I replied that it was.
“I don’t see how people can eat that kind of stuff.”
“You don’t like pork?” I inquired.
“No, I don’t like meat in general. In fact, I don’t eat any kind of animal products.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, both the pizzas have meat on them. I’ve probably got some stuff in there you can eat, though.”
She got up and went to rummage around in the kitchen. The rest of us kept on enjoying our beers, and were laughing at something on the TV…but every so often you could hear a sigh from the kitchen, a sigh that was so delicate but yet of such utter disdain and disbelief…huhhhhh…
I got up and went in to check the pizzas. She had found some kind of ghastly looking frozen noodle-and-vegtable dish in my freezer and was poring over the directions. The pizzas were done, so I got them out and starting slicing.
“Does your microwave work?” she asked.
“No, it’s broken. Haven’t gotten a new one.”
“Well, shit,” she said, “how am I supposed to cook this?”
I pointed to the oven and hoped my expression didn’t look as condesending as I felt inside.
“You’ve cooked meat in that oven,” she said, “I don’t want to put this in there with that meat aroma. It makes me sick.”
Everything in her tone of voice, and every small facet of her body language seemed to indicate that this was some type of conspiracy I had cooked up. I just shrugged. She angrily put the frozen dinner back in the freezer and went back to the living room. I followed along with the pizzas, and everybody but her dug into them greedily…while she sat, chin in hand, staring crossly at the TV set.
Later on, I heard her make a snide comment about how “some people in this world just don’t make proper hosts”…presumably a comment about my failure to supply food and cooking appliances suited to her taste.
So here’s my thoughtful rumination on this episode:
Fuck this stupid, childish, self-centered whore and the high horse she’s got crammed into her crotch. I refuse to feel guilty over not being able to meet her dietary requirements when IT WAS JUST SUPPOSED TO BE A BEER-DRINKING NIGHT and no one bothered to inform me that she’s not only a vegan, but can’t even cook a goddamn frozen dinner in the same oven where meat has been.
She acted like I had lured her there under false pretenses only to screw her over.
It is the height of rudeness indeed to come into a stranger’s house and criticize them simply because they can’t meet your particular needs.
I’ve been to parties thrown by vegans, and indeed some of their food wasn’t to my taste. Did I act like a fucking crybaby and demand that they serve up a London Broil immediately to satisfy my meat-loving needs? No, I didn’t. I ate the food that was served with complete politeness and made no attempt to impose my own dietary desires on them. Because I was their guest and it was their house, their kitchen, and their party.
I should have thrown this hoity-toity bitch out on her ass. The respect I have for my co-worker was the only thing that kept me from doing such.
