In New York earlier this week, the things that annoyed me most were the rich people. I was scouting winter fashions, and that meant sometimes going to places like 5th Avenue and downtown, where the women walk around in floor-length mink coats and men charge by in sleek suits and giant shiny shoes. In my puffy jacket and comfortable sneakers, I felt out of place and more than a little annoyed.
Back here in LA, I got that same feeling again this morning watching a corporate executive-type ahead of me in the line at Winchell's. He was accompanied by a little girl, about 7, who from the looks of things was probably not his daughter, (1) because they didn't look like family, and (2) because he was petting her hair and asking her for all kinds of input on the donuts. Oblivious to the fact that it was morning rush hour for donuts, the big man decided to turn the donut-buying into a teaching moment. As in, if we order a dozen donuts, they actually round up and give us 14, so how do we get to 34 donuts? A dozen, another dozen, and a half-dozen. Very good!
The worst part, though, was this exchange between the big man and this young Hispanic guy who took his order:
Big man: "We want 34 donuts."
Order-taker: "You want to choose, or we can assort them?"
Big man: "What?"
Order-taker: "You choose, or we assort them for you?"
Big man (loudly, indignantly): "What? I can't understand what you're saying!" (Read: "Learn to speak properly, you immigrant.")
I was so disgusted that as soon as another store clerk was free and it was my turn (while the big man and the girl were still busy selecting their 27th donut or something), I sprang into action and stole a couple of glazed bars from under his nose. He wanted four, but only got two, the poor bastard.
