I’m The Continental Breakfast At Your Crappy Hotel And I’m Going to Ruin Your Morning
Get ready to partake of my disappointing, greasy bounty
Let’s face it: You haven’t been able to stop thinking about me since you checked into this dump. I was the glimmer of hope you clung to at 2am, when the guests above you were either having the best sex of their life or angrily assembling an IKEA dresser. And this morning, after your shower, when you tried to turn on the in-room hairdryer and it blew a fuse, you fantasized about my tantalizing delicacies. Well, your faith in me was grievously misplaced. I am the continental breakfast and I am going to ruin your morning.
See that booth covered with crumbs and garnished with a tacky fake floral arrangement from 1985? That’s where your family can sit. Make sure you throw your jacket down to save it before that maskless family with the MAGA hats comes over and fights you for it. No, I don’t provide trays for you to take the food back to your room. You must eat here under these fluorescent lights and soak in the ambiance of the stained gingham curtains and ripped polyurethane seat covers.
Can I offer you a scalding cup of coffee? My signature beverage is instant Folgers mixed with a scoop of dust and topped with a clump of powdered non-dairy creamer. Or perhaps…
