The Fucking Soup Plantation

I just came back from the Soup Plantation. I don't know why I ever go there. I always want to puke at what I see going on in there. It's scarier than the underside of a toilet seat in a Calcutta outhouse. It's like a mile-long saliva bowl. I used to work in a restaurant for ten years. I see things no one else sees. Because after ten years you realize that people will go out of their way to inflict harm on strangers and working in a restaurant is one of the best ways to do this and being a CUSTOMER in a restaurant where the customers have access to the food is another good way. I haven't decided yet which people are more vicious and pathological, the employees or the customers. In the Soup Planatation it is CLEARLY the customers who are the psychopaths. Jesus Fucking Bojangles Christ On Earth Lord And Savior of the Jews And Niggers Amen. I actually had to go up to some fucking dilapidated old Romanian whore from under a tent and tell her to quit the fuck eating out of the trough with her hands. I mean I had had just about enough with the filth and the spit flying everywhere, then this fucking fat stupid slavic fucking piece of shit from some troll dungeon in the Baltics is standing at the soup cauldrons and she's ladling some pasta into a bowl and then she sticks her fingers in the pasta and eats whatever she can grasp and slides her fingers halfway down her bug-infested tubercular gullet in the process and then she nods and goes oh that's nice and picks up a ladle to something else in her trenchmouth-coated fingers and ladles some more shit into her saliva bowl and then eats THAT with her fucking fiingers. I'm 65. She was pro'bly 55. I finally just said "Hey: Pig: quit eating with your fingers or I'll tell whatever Mexican thinks he's running this place to throw your peasant ass outa here." She gives me this really sickly smile like she wouldn't fucking hurt a fly, she's just a sweet old lady, could I really be talking to her? and she says in some sort of broken English accent that she just made up "I not." "The fuck you're not, you rancid petri dish." "Vot??" "Never mind vot, just quit eating with your filthy spit fingers." "I not!!" "Quit lyin' to me granma, I don't like it." "YOU CANT TALK TO ME LIKE DOT!" Her English was improving all the time. One of the dumbass Mexican men was walking by and I said "She keeps eating with her fingers. Tell her to stop or I'll call the Health Department." He looked at me in total befuddlement. You can just TELL when a Mexican really cannnot speak a word of English. After you talk to ten billion of the fuckers like I have you just know who's fuckin' with ya and who really doesn't know what you are saying to them. He had NO idea what I just said. Fortunately I now had enough other people glaring at this woman that she was totally outnumberd and she ran into the bathroom. I guess to scrape her fingers clean against her caustically filthy vulva before sticking them into the food again.It's my own fault for raisiing my eyes up higher than shoe level in there. Otherwise you are always going to see SOMETHING that will make you want to puke. And it's usually after you paid that you see it, whatever it is, so you cant just leave. You gotta eat SOMEthin'. But if you're lucky, while you're sliding your tray down the ten mile salad-and-weird-shit line you will see enough snot and ass-debris go from fingers to food to where you can just leave before you ever get to the cashier.