The Gastronomical Inferno: Part Three

Recently I witnessed an extended family, all fat, coming out of the buffet. They were limping, bloated, sickly, full of crapulence. The matriarch, the grandmother, had a huge travel bag full of donuts and biscuits that she had pilfered from the buffet tray. Apparently, she hadn’t stuffed herself enough. The donuts and biscuits were falling out of her over-packed tote bag as she hobbled across the parking lot. You could see the baked goods rolling across the asphalt like rot-gut bowling balls.  This grandma’s butt was too big to get into the back seat of the banged-up, rusted Mercury Topaz, so she had to swing the door all the way open. Seemingly oblivious, she rammed the right door into the left door of  a brand new dark gray Honda Accord parked in the next space. The Topaz door was wedged right into the once-pristine Accord and I could see sparks and gray paint chips flying off it. All the while the grandmother, straining with her cane, was lowering herself into the Topaz while grunting like a pig. She squatted lower and lower while gagging and squealing. Spittle flew out of her mouth along with bits of semi-masticated biscuit clods.

It gets worse. Grandma’s weight sunk the back of the Topaz so low that the car’s rear hit the asphalt and this made the door wedge deeper and deeper into the Accord. By now the door had violently gashed that poor new Honda. I was just standing there with my gym bag in my hand wondering if I was the only person who saw what was going on. It then occurred to me that someone’s Accord was getting thrashed. I rushed into the gym and explained the situation to the manager and he let me tell everyone what had happened over the PA system. A guy ran off the StairMaster while screaming hysterically and I followed him to the parking lot. The family was still sitting in the Topaz. They were so stuffed from their feeding that they were now “recovering” inside the car with the windows down, fanning themselves with the buffet’s take-out menus. The Honda owner was irate. He screamed at them and they just looked at him with bovine indifference, their chins glistening with drool. A bunch of clueless gluttons destroying and devouring everything that comes into their path.

PART ONE    PART TWO PART FOUR

Comments

[Ed S.]

It galls me that people who eat like this even live long enough to become grandma-age Our genes have a twisted sense of humor. I'll probably not live lomg enough to see my grandchildren, due to genetics. Life isn't fair. Eat, drink & be merry...?

[Jeff McMahon]

I've inherited insomnia and claustrophobia from my mom's side; the consolation is those afflictions don't necessarily shorten one's life. My wife's friend's husband is skinny but has genetic high cholesterol. His slender father died around 59 from a heart attack.

[Ed S.]

Many things affect lifespan. Read "Real Age" to see how much insomnia, and dozens of other factors, have on one's lifespan.

[herculodge]

I'm sure my insomnia and generally high-strung disposition is deleterious to my age and lifespan.

[Ed S.]

Damn, now I'm hungry for some Chinese buffet!

[Jeff McMahon]

I rarely go to restaurants anymore. I cook for myself. The best book I've ever read about food is Michael Pollan's recently published In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto.