There Is A Strong Possibility That I Am Blacker Than You Are

Is it just me, or does the prospect of eating fried chicken and collard greens excite everybody? I just found a buffet place less than two blocks away from my new job and I’ve already eaten the same meal the two times that I’ve been there. For now, it is the only place in my general vicinity that has exactly what I want. In order to eat healthier I try to increase the amount of vegetables and that can be a daunting task for a bachelor that rarely cooks for himself. I prefer to eat out for just about every meal of the day and the vegetables that I like are rarely served unless I stumble on one of those soul food gold mines.

I wouldn’t exactly call this buffet place a soul food gold mine because the food isn’t really all that great, to be honest. While they might lack in overall quality, they do have a plethora of overweight people crowding the place. I suspect that it has to do with the prices that they charge relative to the amount of food one person is allowed to consume. Eight dollars and eleven cents per person is a pretty good all-you-can-eat deal. This buffet place happens to be in America, and deals of quantity are the thing.

Today there were two huge Samoans in there coupled up, seemingly crowding a table that could have easily seated six. As I sat down with my fried chicken breast, wing, and leg complete with collards, corn on the cob, to go along with red beans and rice I noticed one of the large Samoans waddling up to the soda fountain to get him and his partner six more small cups of strawberry soda. The Samoan had to balance the drinks on a plate in order to carry them back the table that was already littered with four or five plates of scraps from the lunches that I assume they had already eaten.

I looked around carefully to see who was out of place, them or me. I didn’t start noticing the trend of hugeness that was going on at this buffet place until a black man walked in with an Al Sharpton perm and a Big Punisher waistline. I ate alone and imagined that this correlation of obese people at an all-you-can-eat buffet line is definitely scientifically verifiable and that I didn’t want to end up being a part of the experiment except as a control. Will I continue to show up at this buffet place three out of five days in a week? Yes. Will I eventually succumb to the sickness that apparently affects seven out of ten people that frequent this restaurant? I hope not.

I just don’t know what to do with myself when noontime rolls around and I know that there isn’t going to be any chicken and collard greens worth driving out of my coveted Venice parking spot for. I get really excited that I have chance to eat perhaps the blackest meal in a leisurely establishment right down the street from my employment. Let’s face it, I don’t live in DC anymore and in California this has been as good as it gets, so far. Does this mean that I hopelessly reinforcing stereotypical behavior? Probably so. Do I care that I am opening myself up for a myriad of racial jokes and barbs? Not in the slightest.

If the buffet had yams and or sweet potatoes then I’d be just like Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man. If they had watermelon at this joint, I might have to eat there everyday.

Ya’ll can’t see me anyway, but do you feel me?


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