The Old Country Discrimination

So my roommate Jason and I went to Old Country Buffet for dinner tonight, which is especially effective to cure my dining commons jonesin'. Seriously, this is no different than a campus dining commons, only the people that regularly eat there are significantly more white trash.

So after about a half hour of observing this odd bunch of people, I developed a system to classify the people who eat there. Now if it sounds like I'm judging, just keep in mind that I am. I'm not complaining, because I really love being in a dining room of seventy people and knowing that I'm simply a better person than nearly every one of them.

The regulars: This breed of person rocks the hardcore three day scruff, both genders included. They can often be seen hitting up the "nightly special," which tonight consisted of an awkward white meat, and what appeared to be a 40 pound pot roast. They clearly have their paths marked out, and know the shortcuts to the best vats of food. The female version of the regular can be seen in velour, jogging pants, or horrifically inappropriate belly shirts(sidebar: tonight there was a girl there wearing a belly shirt, with a gut like mine. Seriously this broad was a deuce, maybe a deuce 25, and she was either a- intentionally rocking a belly shirt with a navel ring that got lost in that sea of fat chick because she thought she was hot, or b- recently had a terrible encounter with a vengeful dryer that shrunk all of her clothes to the point of no return, and she just hasn't gotten her paycheck to buy a new wardrobe yet). The female version is also seen many times with multiple children hanging off her, and is known to yell at them in public, or the classiest of the regulars will out and out drag said children by the arm, or lay a vicious overhand slap across their defenseless face or back. The male regular is almost uniformly obese and wears either their uniform to DHL, Meineke, or Sears. A casual regular is known to go home and shower up before their big night on the town, and will occasionally pull on a West Coast Choppers tee shirt directly from the WalMart rack or the Unlicensed knock off red sox, patriots, bruins, or nascar shirt. Filthy painters hats from the early nineties(not in the trendy sense) are also essential. When a novice OCB patron such as my roommate and I walk through a gaggle of regulars tables, they are subject to a stinging odor of BO and Brut cologne.

The elderly: I'm not going to pass judgment on this group, because I'm sure that my grandparents would enjoy this establishment. I understand that most are on a fixed income, and respect that they want to stretch their dollar as far as possible. I will however say this: They seem to have a difficult time making up their mind as to what they want to sample at the all- you- can- scoop buffet. Seriously, maybe it's me, but my theory offers the suggestion that if you might like something,... try it. If it sucks, don't eat it. It's not like you pay by the kernel of corn,... oh and don't try the waste excuse on this guy ok.... do you have any idea how much of this shit gets thrown away every night??? Do you? That's right. So, without passing judgment: old people please decide faster.

The posers: This is a difficult breed to spot sometimes. They can blend in with the irregulars, but the trained eye can spot an impostor. Tonight for example, there was a gentleman in a suit, which seemed out of place to me, so I kept an eye on him. While observing this species, it was clear that he was no OCB virgin. This guy was bobbing and weaving through the lines, avoiding the elderly, and skirting the clog of poverty surrounding the meat du jour. Now the suit still threw me off a little bit,... until I saw the wife and son. The fourteen teeth between the two of them and the rampant stench of rancid meat and baby formula led me to the assumption that this gentleman wasn't out of place, the suit was. Clearly if this guy had a need to wear a suit on a daily basis, he would not be treating his family to a meal out of scoop your own corn, and eat at your own risk fried fish. So, a list of possible suit reasons was derived. This list includes: a court date, a funeral, a job interview, a welfare interview, an unemployment assistance interview, a food stamp interview, a government cheese aid interview, he was an extra in a local movie, got a gift certificate to the salvation army for christmas, his only article of clothing was the suit, was homeless and found the suit, inherited the suit, the suit was a gift from Kenny Bania, or ultimately the reason that Jason and I decided upon was, that the suit was a guise for his own poverty, and of course, the reason he was dubbed, the poser.

The irregulars: This is finally where I fall in. The people who accidentally stumble in, those who don't know what they want, but know they want a lot, or those who feel like going somewhere to be reminded of the good ol' college days. I don't particularly like OCB's food, but you know what, it's cheap, and it has options. And honestly, it's dinner and a show. These people are a sideshow of poverty, poor social skills, and even worse manners. I could spot no more than 8 of probably 70 in the entire establishment that would fall under this category. This group includes: a mother and daughter, both wearing jeans and ski jackets, without Jersey hair, carrying a bag from Best Buy that had a computer accessory. A family of three who each had one plate, spoke normally with grace and public discipline, and seemed to enjoy each others company and conversation, the father wearing a button up shirt and khaki's, the mother wearing a sweater, and the son wearing an Ecko polo and a white Sox hat backwards. One gentleman ate alone reading the Wall Street Journal with a cup of tea and a salad, but was literally half a dining room away from the next closest patron. The last two were Jason and I. I would have felt comfortable being on the same airplane as these other six, because their body odors would have been under control, as well as their manners and public discourse.

Look, I just ranted for almost six pages in Microsoft Word about the social atmosphere of Old Country Buffet and the mediocrity of the people who trudge through the doors. I'm probably the worst one of the bunch. I may be smarter, better off financially and more adept towards personal hygiene, but I discriminate the fuck out of other people without concern for my own moral status. And while I may be a scumbag, and a spineless bastard one thing doesn't change:

I've still never skipped to the dessert bar at OCB.

Current mood: Mean
Current song: Pain- Jimmy Eat World.