When I first moved out to Kent almost two months ago, I explored the surrounding areas.
I went to West Malling, went to Maidstone, went to Strood.
The day I went into Strood, I stopped to have lunch at a little restaurant. First off, it took the waitress almost seven or eight minutes to come and take my order, even though the place was not packed and quite small.
When she finally came, I ordered something with chicken, I forget now. Then I had to wait another ten minutes for the food to come.
When it came it was very nice, but I had a premonition that someone had spit in it; but I shook it off. Maybe it was the way the waitresses couldn’t stop looking at me, or in one case, looking through me.
They were playing one of my favourite songs on the radio, so I just hummed along, singing a few words here and there. Then one of the waitresses, my server, seemed to be singing in competition with me. I shook that off as well.
So I’ve finished my food, had to wait forever for the waitress to come and move the plate, then forever for her to bring the bill. I put £10 on the table, and when she came she snatched it up a little forcefully, and off she went.
So I am waiting for my change. Waiting for my change. Waiting for my change.
After another five minutes, I look up and ask the guy closest to me behind the counter, “Umm, can I get back my change?”
The waitress comes back, because he didn’t even bother to answer my question, he just looked away and started calling her back. When she gets to my table and I ask her where’s my change, the little bitch sings out, “Oh, I put it on the table.”
“Indeed you did not!” I responded.
Then she starts moving the salt shaker and tomato ketchup, saying she put it on the table.
“No you didn’t. I would have remembered, and I would have left already.”
The guy behind the counter calls out, “Awww, go on (insert her name here) give it to her again.”
I looked across at him, and OH MY GOD, the cuss was forming behind my eyeball; it was coming, coming, coming. But I swallowed it back.
She went, got the change, and put it in my hand, again a little roughly. I bit my tongue and left.
The whole time I am standing there, I am saying to myself, “These motherfuckers are lucky I am my mother’s child, oui? Not, they would here how a Trini/Bajan Combermerian does cuss motherfuckers. Allyuh wouldn’t know what the fuck hit allyuh ass, oui?”
What pissed me off most was the intonation I’m trying to cheat they slow ass service givers out of £2.50. What’s worse, the waitress was at fault and her supervisor person was so fucking stupid, he just let it go down.
Then there was this part of me pissed the fuck off, because part of me was sure that they were sitting there looking me, speaking properly, eating properly and obviously mixed race, (just another NIGGER) and they could talk to me and treat me that way.
Hence, it’s been the last time I’ve been to Strood.
I have a good mind to go back up there, and walk in, ask for the waitress and the man, then remind them of the incident and say, “Hello. I am an uppity nigger. I only came to tell you that the service was lousy, and allyuh fuck up meh change, and DAMNIT, FUCK OFF, oui?”
And talk very loudly!