Tales of the White Trash

So there I was... last Friday, we got our tax refund, which had been due February 25. Amy had a hard week with Jackson home from school with a cough three out of five weekdays (and no coinciding sick behavior like sleeping and giving his poor mom a break). We were able to pay off a couple of significant debts, and I thought it appropriate to take Amy out. I had in mind something at least relatively nice... honestly, Texas Roadhouse is the one chain I love above all others, and my blood count was low on steak. Buuuuut, our babysitter arrived later than planned, and we didn't even leave the house until 7:15 (shut up, that's late. This will all come into play. Shut up). What I was really hoping for was to let Amy shop to her heart's content, since she seems to often get shafted on clothes and shoes in our family budget. And you should also know that everything in Layton, Utah, even our mall, closes insanely, inexplicably, retardedly early. Yeah, I said retardedly, and I meant it. Even on weekends, most of the mall stores are closed at 9. Anyway, we tried to get in at Outback, and there was a 45-50 minute wait. When I get hungry, it makes me 1. grumpy, 2. stupid, and 3. overly optimistic about potential deliciousness. So I did something terrible. I settled for the restaurant right next door. The Golden Corral.

I honestly don't know where some of these people come from. Outside what is actually a pretty good salad bar (and come on, as long as it's fresh and there is a selection, how do you mess up salad?), the Corral provides a smattering of fried food and obese patrons that can only be rivaled by state fairs. Dinner buffet is a little over $10 per person, but after taxes and tips for the so-called "waitress" who is responsible for nothing but bringing you drinks, we spent $28, and I find it amazing what a difference of maybe five or ten dollars would have gotten us at a real restaurant. There are a few less greasy options, most of them edible but none done particularly well. The most egregious offense was Amy's chocolate "truffle." Such lies! It had the flavor and consistency of chocolate frosting. Although to be honest, it had sprinkles on it, which is usually not the sign of gourmet anything. What can I say, Amy is a trusting person. There were a few similarly misled young couples and families, but for the most part, this is what the customers look like:


In fact, the woman pictured above is probably in the top 3 percent of persons frequenting the Corral. She at least has the appearance of respectability, and may be highly intelligent and very pleasant to interact with. On this gal, it's just the size and frumpiness I'm pointing out as a general idea of the Golden Corral dining experience. I truly don't have a lot of prejudices, but I have two exceptions I make no apologies for: gypsies (who are mostly in Europe, so I don't have to deal with them) and white trash (basically American gypsies). The reason? I believe you can be poor and dignified. On my paternal side of the family, I come from rural Southeast Idaho stock that definitely knew hard times, but they were also strong, clean, hardworking people. I suppose if I were being fair, I would expand the term white trash to include hatred for trash of all races, since we're talking mostly about behaviors here, although who am I to lie that appearance isn't a major component? It totally is. But there is definitely black white trash, and Asian white trash if you've ever seen the movie Gran Torino, and as I mentioned, gypsies could probably be considered Europe's answer to white trash, and other than geographical distance, as far as I'm concerned, we could use the two terms interchangeably. But it doesn't pack the same punch without the word white attached to it. Do I qualify as racist? And am I going to hell? Perhaps. Frankly, if hating white trash is wrong, I don't wanna be right.

At any rate, we ended up not shopping after running into Amy's sister at her workstation at the mall JC Penney, so the entire nice evening out I'd pictured came to naught. I am fortunate to have parents who volunteer to watch our kids once a month, so this Friday, I'll be able to get the Golden Corral experience rinsed from my mouth, and even if we get fast food, or go to enjoy the overt redneck-ness of Cracker Barrel, we can hold our heads high, and never see this brand of trailer cuisine again, at least until the next time I sell my soul for convenience and cheap steak.