Earlier this month I had the doubtful pleasure of working on-site at a client’s office for a few days. This entailed travelling to a large city in a very feminist country. To give you a hint: the landmass of that country has the shape of a flaccid deformed penis, if you squint just a little bit. On the plus side, I was put up in a decent four-star hotel and racked up bonus points, so that was nice. (Side note for morons: No, I’m not humble-bragging as business travel is pretty crappy even if you stay in a fancy hotel smack in the city center.)
My hotel had a rather lavish breakfast buffet, befitting a hotel of its category. Waiters were scuttling around, making sure there were always copious amounts of everything available. The buffet was offered on tables that were arranged in a large U-shape, and in the center there was an aisle with even more stuff you’d have to ignore if you wanted to make sure you would still fit in your pants.
On my third day, I got up way too early, as was necessary, and made it to the hotel restaurant half-asleep, piling up food on my plate with my eyes half-open. I was lucky to find a table right next to the buffet area. It was the most conveniently located table in the restaurant, in fact. Don’t leave if you’re getting bored, because it will get a bit more exciting soon. I had a bowl of muesli and a plate with fatty meaty cheesy yummy stuff in front of me. The latter was disappearing at a frightening pace as I want to bulk up. Soon I got up to get some more.
As I turned around to get back to my table, two menopausal women were standing next to my table, apparently wondering whether it was taken or not. The most fitting way to describe them would be as fat old hags in a business costume — certainly not what you want to look at while eating. All tables were for four. There were plenty of unoccupied tables available as well. Right after I sat down, one of those cunts who presumably only got promoted in order to fulfill gender quotas loudly addressed a waitress, and remarked, “Excuse me, there is a man sitting at our table!” She stressed “our”, and pronounced man with disgust, probably similar to how Kim Kardashian would pronounce “economy” in case Kanye ever tells her that they need to reel in their spending as they are $50 mill in the hole and can’t fly first class for a while. “Ew, a man! Someone shot him please!”
Those fat swine wanted to claim that table so that they wouldn’t need to walk an extra two or three meters to the troughs. As I was an obstacle, I clearly had to be removed. That was a classy hotel, though, and that waitress professionally pointed out to them that “that gentleman had been sitting there before you arrived”, and showed them to a different table. Those two cunts were then led away from me. The less fat one of them squeaked, “I apologize.” as she walked past. No, I did not acknowledge her presence.
Quite frankly, I wouldn’t have minded had they just sat down next to me. Normally, you don’t get the luxury of having an entire table for yourself. Yet, if you are an entitled aging bitch, you presumably believe that those defective males should make way for you because social norms only apply to them.