Friday, June 18, 2010

Change of identity

People sometimes ask me to imagine that I’ve been changed into a human in my sleep by an evil wizard. I tell them it wouldn’t bother me until I awoke next morning and peered into a looking glass. Oh, what a horrible shock to see a fleshy little face staring back at me! I should imagine I would jump out of my hammock in despair and look for a baboon to kick. But being human, I would be no match for the baboon, who would give me a grievous hiding for my effrontery. This would undoubtedly add to my woes.

Now why do people ask me to contemplate such a disturbing scenario? Basically it’s curiosity. They want to find out what sort of human persona I would adopt if the metamorphosis were forced upon me by black magic. I suspect they want me to say I would prefer to be someone like them. Humans are very vain and love to belong to a favoured group. Yet strangely enough, I have no firm views on the question. With so many varieties of human on Earth, it’s difficult to decide where the soul of a gorilla would be most at home. Obviously not in a hairdresser or frogman, but that still leaves a lot of possibilities.

I used to think Shaolin monks were closest to gorillas in spirit. Like us, they are vegetarian pacifists who enjoy the outdoor life. Their kung fu tactics are pretty similar to how we silverbacks keep the yahoos at bay. Yet shaving one’s head is definitely not a gorilla-compatible custom. They also have an annoying habit of speaking in riddles, which creates a lot of unnecessary pussy-footing. If I want to hear riddles, I’ll buy a box of crackers.

Then I thought I might enjoy being the captain of a cruise ship. The job has numerous perks, including fresh sea air, a smart hat and a crew that says “Ay Skipper”.
But then I found out that much of the captain’s time is spent listening to passengers’ complaints and humouring middle-aged women with wobbly bottoms. It might be tolerable if I could give the bottoms a slap or two, but apparently such salutations are no longer part of marine protocol.

My current choice would be an attractive blonde waitress with big breasts. Before you gape in astonishment, please note that this preference is based on
solid scientific research. It is a proven fact that bosomy blonde waitresses get bigger tips than their darker-haired, flatter-chested sisters. In the dog-eat-dog world of homo sapiens, an edge over your rivals is an incalculable advantage. Having to check my breasts for lumps would be a chore, but I reckon I could get used to it.

Let me add, for the record, that I have never been influenced by bust size in the tipping of waitresses. The biases of the human male are not shared by us gorillas. The most generous gratuity I ever gave was to a ginger-haired girl with delightfully petite sugar plums. To protect her anonymity, I will call her “Miss Cherry Tomatoes”.

“Miss Tomatoes,” I said, “this is the last breakfast I shall eat at this café, for tomorrow the circus leaves town. To show my appreciation, I will leave you a tip equal to a full day’s pay.”

“Oh thank you, Mr Bananas!” she mewed. “It will help me save up for a boob job.”

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Miss Tomatoes obviously subscribes to the same scientific journals as you do.
I have a fun surprize for you on my blog.
As a lady, I fear that my rationale for tipping gentlemen waiters has more to do with the pertness of their posterior than anything else. I am shameless in my old age.
Many of us Homo Sapien males are far less enthused regarding female breast size, preferring instead to calculate the amount of tip based on geometry and kinetics of the posterior as the waitress departs the table. I am, of course, myself seeking grants to conduct a study.
Maybe it's an unconscious thing to tip on looks but I tend to tip based more on speed of service, and food quality.
Sorry to have missed your previous post, due to irreconciliable opinions with Blogger about my posts. Despite Blogger's attempts to wipe me out of the blogosphere, I have now a new home in Wordpress. I've been quite busy redecorating my virtual life, but you won't get rid of me so easily: I'll be back!

Leni Qinan, (proud survivor from a blogging war)
So it's true what they say about bosomy waitresses, GB? They're the ones with real big ti-- tips?
If that man in the top picture waited on me, I'd happily give him a real big ti-- tip!
xo Robyn
It's likely true. I waited tables for years and usually made more than my brunette coworkers.
Kyknoord: The Philippine Journal of Coconut Studies? You could be right.

Ms Wannabe: I saw it, Ms W, and was very surprised.

Madame Defarge: Quite right, Madame D. A woman of your exalted status should be allowed to make a manual determination. Droit de Dame.

Robert: Hah, I would have guessed you were a rump man! We gorillas are the same, of course.

Rebecca: How very conscientious of you, Rebecca. It's honest citizens like you that maintain the standard of service.

Leni: I've seen your new home, Leni, and I'm looking forward to lying on your couch.

Robyn: You like men who can contort their bodies, Robyn? You have my blessing to tip them generously.

Ms OWO: In your case there might have been other factors at play. Apart from your hair and your boobs, I mean. Flirtatious backchat in a cute southern voice, for example.
When I tip male waiters, I prefer them not to tell me what they're planning to spend it on.
The world is a bit unfair, Mr. Bananas. Brunette flat waitresses surely work ad hard as their blonde bosomy coworkers -except these strong girls who can carry 12 pints of beer with each hand in Germany, at the Oktoberfest-

PS.- There's a wonderful soft couch especially for you at my new home!

I found out how to comment with my own name, not user's name. Sorry, I'm still learning the techy stuff at Wordpress.
In the USA you have to tip outrageous amounts in return for which they'll interrupt your meal every three minutes to ask if you guys are OK. No wonder they all eat lunch at their desks.
Ya just CAN'T BEAT them big ol' titties !
Oh, come on! You're a handsome Gorilla so I'm sure you would change into an attractive human.
It's harder to picture you as a blonde waitress with big breasts, though.

OMG, is that Bill Gates?! :)
I wonder if he's a big tipper.
We dont care much for blondes here so i think you'd morph into a hot looking big-booby red head :p

Then we'll hit the bars together and tickle them boys
Ah, the danger of blonde waitresses and also (from what I've heard) the danger of being a blonde waitress.
thank you for stopping by my Travel blog!
I totally agree with Madame DeFarge! LOL
Borah: A wise policy, Deb. It might spoil your digestion to find out what ignoble activity you were funding.

Leni: Men are unfair, Leni. I have the greatest admiration for hard-working brunettes with petite busts.

Lady Daphne: I've heard that if your tip is too small they'll ask you whether anything was wrong with the service.

Heff: I've never tried to beat 'em, Heff.

Donut girl: You flatter me, Ms Donut, and I enjoy it. Bill Gates ought to be a big tipper, but I bet he's the sort that works out a fixed percentage on his calculator.

Sabrina: Stuff the boys, Saby, I'd take you back to my place for some hot girl-on-girl action!

Secret Agent: You ought to date a few, Jacky. I think they'd like you.

Ms Gibson: Madame Defarge is always right, Ms Gibson.
This made me snort water up my nose. Good thing I wasn't at a restaurant.
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