Sunday, October 11, 2015

Dear Wine Afficianado at The Giant Crab

When I spend $30 at a seafood buffet in Myrtle Beach, I expect two things: ungodly portions of food and horrifying meat sweats.  What I don't expect was the garbage I heard spewing from the booth behind me, where you and your husband sat. 

Around plate two, just when I was really hitting my groove and annihilating large colonies of hush puppies and calamari, I noticed that both the manager and your waitress had arrived at your table.  The manager was attempting to apologize to you for something, but you continually cut her off. 

"That ain't good enough.  I tol' her" you snapped.  You then brandished a glass filled with a wine, the color of which I can only describe as "muppet blood". 

"I tol' her I wanted Sutter Home.  This ain't Sutter Home."  Your husband mumbled something that sounded either like a vague agreement with you, or some southern friend bastardization of a passage from the Necronomicon.  I did get a chance to admire the fact that it was quite obvious that, in addition to saving money by buying hobo wine, your husband option to buy one supertooth to replace his top three front teeth.  It was just one big wall of tooth with no gap, which gave him the superpower of gnashing up inhuman quantities of peel and eat shrimp.

I won't go further into the yelling.  It's unnecessary, because the bottom line is that you were berating a restaurant staff for not giving you a two buck chuck.  Unless they replaced your boxed wine with Mad Dog or Thunderbird, you have no grounds for complaint.  They did you a favor, unless the Sutter Home is the only thing pickling your white trash hick body and keeping you looking so fresh from the swamp.  The manager looked like she was ready to punch your husband's SooperToof (patent pending) straight out of his face.  I made sure to let her know that she did a wonderful job, and that you were a base, unrelenting simpleton for arguing about such a ridiculous thing, and for berating people who have to watch people like you shovel an ocean load of seafood into their drooling, feculent craws every night. 

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