I am beginning to think so.
I really am.
I know there are a lot of assholes in
I am willing to wager that every one
of them eats sushi, drinks sake
and allows their overwhelming
arrogance to waft in great noxious
clouds through sushi bars across
this great nation.
If this were a single occurrence,
I could shrug it off.
I have crossed paths with singular assholes,
monumental assholes, assholes I would not
sic on my worst enemy in the world
in the fast food joint,
the donut shop, the grocery store,
the auto parts distributor.
I have never in any of these other locations
witnessed the persistent, pernicious and
obnoxious parade of assholes as I have seen
in my local Japanese restaurant.
By way of comparison,
I visited a nearby Turkish restaurant
on a weekly basis for nearly two years and
I never encountered one asshole.
But asshole encounters at the sushi bar
have occurred so frequently that
every time the waitress seats a couple
or group next to us, I cringe, shudder
and quite nearly pose a question to the newly
arrived guests, “So…which flavor of
asshole are you folks?”
Are you a know-it-all
asshole who has dragged in some
motley assemblage of relatives
and friends so that he might display his
wide and immense knowledge of Japanese
custom, culture and cuisine?
That he might illustrate his worldliness,
his depth of character for being open to new things,
his courage for eating uncooked seafood?
Or…are you a loud mouthed asshole who
never learned the difference between
speaking in a quiet restaurant and
screaming from the right field bleachers at
Yankee Stadium? Who has informed the eastern
two thirds of Long Island about your ex-husband
and his unwillingness to drive your daughter
anywhere? Who tells the entire restaurant
you have been medicating your elderly
father with Xanax because you thought
he needed it? Was that an attempt
at whispering? Asshole.
Or…are you the dog ugly middle aged accountant
looking asshole with the Botox, boob
job, butt lift trophy wife part deux and
the bratty children who did not shut up
for a whole entire hour and wanted to jet to
South Africa or Bali to go surfing?
Assholes raising next generation assholes.
Or…are you the snotty, condescending,
interrogative asshole who
treated the waitress like shit on shoebottom?
What ees Katsooo?
What ees Teriyakay?
What ees EddaMaMay?
What is the deal with your fake Japanese
vocal inflections and reading the paper during the
entire meal while your poor wife attempted conversation?
Give the women a break, Asshole
Now…I am sure not every asshole in America
eats sushi. There are plenty of assholes
who will never touch that raw fish,
they call it sushi,
I call it bait,
Jap, Nip, Slope food.
But…that, ladies and gentlemen,
is an asshole of a different color
and the subject for another poem.