My toddler loves Monsters Inc. especially Mike Wazowski.
Yesterday I was in Walmart and came across this cool t-shirt.
I immediately bought it, put it on in the car, and rushed home to show my toddler.
I hunted her down as soon as I came through the door.
She was sitting on the couch watching Hogi and eating Goldfish crackers.
I said, ‘Libby check out my cool new shirt!’
I was beaming. I just knew she was gonna think my shirt was the coolest shit ever.
She looked at me, looked at my shirt, scoffed, and yelled, ‘GO AWAY!’
Listen.
I don’t think we talk enough about what huge pieces of shit toddlers are.
That’s literally my TV you are watching.
I paid for those Goldfish crackers.
That’s my fucking couch.
I bought this cool t-shirt ONLY because of you.
And this is your response you f#ggot piece of sh!t??
You are wearing a shirt with a turtle on it that says, ‘Turtley Adorable’ you fuck!ng idiot.
You are broke.
Homeless.
Have poor life skills.
You can’t even fucking speak English.
You are basically a Somali immigrant only brighter in complexion and with much less forehead mass.
I’ll wipe my ass with this shirt.
Fuck this shirt.
Bitch nigga.
Your mom is fat.
ooh i’m zohran mamdani. my wife is hot. my favorite soccer team won the league for the first time in 22 years. my favorite basketball team won the championship for the first time in 53 years. fuck you man.
USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving.
Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free.
I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these."
"They just come with the table, man."
They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner.
This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat.
I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared.
"Did we…?"
"Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless."
Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined.
My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude."
Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man.
I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy.
Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived.
I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most.
Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.