Humor Magazine

A Taste of Europe....Only Not

By Dmroughton
Connor and I took a trip today to Busch Gardens, the theme park built around the premise of replicating multiple European countries in one place where you can conveniently blow all your money without the inconveniences of taking a plane trip, getting jet lagged, and losing your luggage.
While there, I had the privilege of two European experiences:
Number one:  While my son was waiting in line to ride the bumper cars, my radar went off. I turned around to find the source of the alarm: a mother, on a bench not five feet away, whipping out her very large boob to give her infant an afternoon feeding. Now there are two issues I had with this.
First, while Busch Gardens is billed as a European experience, it is actually located in the heart of Virginia - a very much Southern state, in a country not known for a progressive attitude about public nudity of any kind.
Second, there still resides in the depths of me a 7th grade boy (who used to fantasize about Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman many years ago). Neither the 7th grade me nor the grown up me has ever been to the real Europe to experience said progressive attitudes, so when a very large boob is popped out in front of us in public, neither of us is thinking "Hmm. That's great that mom is bonding with her child and providing the best nutrition possible. I wonder if that's colostrum or mature milk?" 
No, the 7th grader in me is thinking "Please don't make me go to the chalkboard. Please, please, please, don't make me go to the chalkboard right now." The grown up in me is thinking "Wow. I hope my kid doesn't come running up right now."
Now I am not suggesting you take your child to the bathroom of an amusement park (uggggh) to feed him. That's just nasty. However, could you at least try to be a little discreet? Seriously, breast feeding doesn't also have to involve prolonged sun tanning.
Number two:  A Taste of Europe....Only NotThe real rant today involves an employee at La Grande Glace, a supposedly French ice cream shop.(By the way, do you like how my shirt matches the fake strawberry ice cream in the photo?)
Now let me preface the following conversation by saying, it's possible I was already a little emotional before the experience. After all, I was supposed to be on my diet, but I had decided to have ice cream since I was at a theme park in another area code. But even though what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, the guilt still comes home. Plus, it's possible I was PMSing just a little bit.
"May I help you?""Yes, my son would like a cone of rainbow sherbet."Gets Connor's ice cream and returns. "And for you?""I'll have a chocolate dipped cone of butter pee-can.""Don't you mean butter pih-kahn?" said with a roll of her eyes.
Oh hell to the no she didn't! First of all BITCH, I have two degrees in English, so I can tell you that Merriam-Websters lists no less than 3 acceptable pronunciations for "pecan." However, I was also raised in the country, and I prefer to say pee-can. (Shout out to Tyrrell County.) You have every right to say it how you want, but don't presume to correct me - your customer about to spend $14 on two ice creams and a bottled water.
Second of all, I understand that stereotypically, the French express disdain for Americans' lack of culture, but honey you are a twenty-something year old American kid dipping ice cream for a living at Busch Gardens. This is not the real Paris, and if it was, I wouldn't put up with it there either.
Furthermore, beyond the attempt to correct your customer's perceived faux pas (I'm sure you know what that means since you're actually French and all), that little roll of the eyes that came with it about caused me to jump back there and (to quote June Roughton Pierce) "snatch a knot in your ass."
Buuuuut since I am all grown up and what not now and would really like to avoid getting an assault charge in front of my kid, I did the next best thing. 
I paid for Connor's ice cream and walked out leaving Little Miss Paris holding a dripping cone of butter pih-kahn.

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