Buffet Restaurants Or Human Feeding Troughs and Laxative Centers

Fun for the Family

My perspective on people is one click, maybe two clicks to the left or right with humor and in the absurd. I like buffets, particularly Chinese-Korean style. Recently I was at a Chinese Buffet for lunch with a large selection of mixed Asian foods. From my point of view alternative (pov alt) buffets for many people are, and I believe unconsciously, firstly, mass food consumption troughs and secondly, laxative centers. It is that old rule, something in and something out.

American steak and seafood sizzle feeding troughs are identical to the Chinese garden troughs. The food may eventually kill you but in the meantime it will flush you out like shit through a goose. You will feel that you can run a marathon. Is that what we refer to as redeeming social value?

Runners to your mark

As I looked around me, people firmly holding their plates were constantly walking to the several food bars and each food bar with multiple containers of fresh food to fill their plates. The buffet seemed not any different than any fast food restaurant or coffee shop because generally you eat and then you leave. It is not a dining experience that involves conversation about the cuisine, except possibly “Did you see those big portions?” Buffets are the opportunity to eat lots of different types of foods at one sitting and under one roof.

I eat like a what?

Are restaurants of any kind really different than animal feeding troughs? My first observation is that buffet restaurants are similar in too many ways to large herd animal feeding like that of pigs and dairy cows, except that humans talk when they eat and some with their mouths open. First things first, food into the mouth and down it goes into the body processing and distribution. In years past I remember the Wonder Bread commercials that Wonder Bread builds strong bodies eight ways. Today people each so much food that in over eating they are building eight bodies one way.  Intake is at the front and like Simon and Garfunkel’s song, “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover,” Out the Back, Jack. Moo-v over.

Magic in the air

The next time you arrive in the parking lot of your favorite buffet look up at the sign that reads, “Buffet,” and imagine that under the word “Buffet” in your mind you  actually see in bold and flashing red lights the sign with the words, “FEEDING TROUGH AND LAXATIVE CENTER.” Try it. Imagine it now and you will see the flashing red lights of the sign, “FEEDING TROUGH AND LAXATIVE CENTER.”

Medical full employment act

It seems that buffets are places to have two meals and maybe three meals in one sitting with two shittings under the same roof. As I looked at some patrons stacking food on their plates 4 inches high and yet the food was neatly placed and well organized, cause and effect entered my thoughts. Many of those buffet patrons should not be in a buffet restaurant.  Eating buffet food seems to have a causal connection to the cardiologist full employment act which is from buffet patron to cardiac patient with heart and coronary artery (clogging) disease. Yummy, yummy, yummy, I have surgery above my tummy.

I also considered the immediate physiological benefit of buffet experience. For those among us with constipation or irregularity don’t buy liquid or pill relief at your pharmacy. Celebrate with the money you save at the pharmacy on your relief you receive at a buffet. It is about the same cost, just more fun but(t) without the laughs. You will enjoy this unique dining experience with food that is well oiled and lubricated that sets you free like a runaway train at 100 mph without brakes. Your only concern should be that the porcelain thrones in the restroom relief centers do not sustain a plumbing malfunction at the junction. In other words you hope that the restroom plumbing can take the demand more successfully than your plumbing.

Crime and punishment

So what is the rest of the calculation? It’s a buffet and not colon clearing center, but(t) again maybe it is. That is when I realized that my second observation was that buffets also are laxative centers. Not a bad thing.  Observing the people (felony food offenders) making several trips to the food lines, I noticed lots of those same people visiting the restrooms where there are insufficient few porcelain thrones to relieve themselves. Take a number, wait, flex, and try to avoid taking a breath. You could pass time listening to the wind section with no orchestra.

Can you imagine that as you exit to the outside of the restrooms, there are stacks of plates for another visit to the elevated cholesterol and saturated fat troughs? You can then quickly return to the bounty that threatens your health, but what fun for now. That would either be the pinnacle of customer satisfaction or attempted suicide. What could be more fun than this Disneyland or is it Dizzylandof calories?

Squeezing out a profit

This leads to my next consideration. “How does the buffet owner make a profit with customers who intentionally do not eat their earlier meal such as breakfast or lunch and now are in a self-induced feeding frenzy?” There is a maximum that can be charged per person at the entrance for lunch and dinner. As you enter the restaurant you pay for your food before you are on the loose with your plates in hand.

The longer a customer remains in the buffet, sits at the table and eats, the more food is gobbled-up. And at the same time the restaurant owner wants you satisfied, your belly full, and you out of the restaurant before you eat all of his profits. Maybe a part of the profit strategy is the greasy food, insufficient relief stations combine with the nature of our flatulent inflated bodies telling us we’re doing something unnatural.

The above is not intended to offend but enlighten in humor. Like former governor Rick Perry of Texas said at a Republican debate, “Oops.” Enough is enough or is it ad nausea too much. Film at 11

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© 2017 Robert Gottlieb – All Rights Reserved

………….

Here is a narrative segment from No Nude Swimming at Chapter 6

I had asked him once what he did at his boiler room office supply sales job. “I’m a thief selling shit to idiots—you know, like politicians and other B.S. role models,” he had said, straight-faced.

“I have a case for you, Sam,” he’d told me one time. That had worried me. This is the scariest phrase known to lawyers. It means the person wants you to work for free, or at best for a percentage of something that is really nothing.

Johnny had purchased a disability insurance policy. The policy would pay $2,500 per month for a fixed number of years. But it would still allow him to do other things, like play golf, without losing his benefits. 

While disabled, he wouldn’t have to make payments on the policy. He just couldn’t do the same work that had resulted in his disability. That meant that he could collect disability insurance and still go on the PGA tour.

That was what he had in mind. Even if he placed as low as fortieth, he could still have fun and keep earning a hundred grand a year when he totaled up his winnings. He could be a professional golfer and have someone else pay the expenses.

I could see his little rat brain working away. How could he get away with it, without getting busted for insurance fraud? He had no concerns about the fact that it was a crime. The only crime was being caught and prosecuted.

Being a bit nervous and neurotic, Johnny suffered from irritable bowel syndrome, better known as IBS. He hadn’t wanted anybody to know that, and had managed to keep it out of his medical record. When he bailed on his job and filed the claim for disability, he used the IBS as the reason. 

That turned out to be enough. The claim was investigated, and the examination confirmed his condition. Since there was no prior medical record of it, the insurance company began paying him $2,500 a month. That’s why he was called Johnny the Rat.

Johnny went to the golf course. He played on the PGA tour for some years, invested wisely in California real estate, and then secured a high-paying job in, of all things, the insurance industry—investigating fraudulent claims. He always did land on his feet. 

Years later, I was able to get fraud work for insurance companies based on the education I received from that redhead rat bastard.

I hadn’t represented Johnny the Rat, nor had I taken any money from him. We had merely met occasionally at the local cafés on Ocean Front Walk in Venice Beach, where he would ask me questions, smile, and then skate away. 

Seeing how he lived was like watching a film noir crime (who done it) mystery from the 1950s and I found it a bit disturbing. My suburbanite reality had not prepared me for it. Being around someone with an almost fearless sociopathic drive to win at the expense of other people gave me an otherworldly feeling.

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