A woman walked into a local breakfast cafe.
As she was being seated in a booth, she noticed a sign on a chalkboard behind the cash register and hostess station. An attempt at self-promotional humor, the sign said in bold, cursive lettering, “There is no unhappiness that can’t be cured by a good breakfast.”
The woman read these words and they fell into heart like drops of acid.
As she ordered and consumed her meal, her bitterness and anger simmered. When she finally went to pay for her breakfast, she accosted the manager, who stood behind the hostess stand.
“Are you kidding me?!” she said, pointing to the sign. “No unhappiness can’t be cured by a good breakfast! In a world where the Holocaust has happened???”
She angrily turned and walked out.
This is a true story, and, of course, we cannot blame this Jewish woman at all for her wrath over this seemingly inconsequential sign.
If you had been traumatized since childhood with tales of your relatives by the millions being stuffed in homicidal ovens, you too might be a little touchy.
No, I don’t blame this woman. She has been through mental abuse and that is extremely sad.
Besides, she’s got a point. When you come to think of it, all happiness is a hate crime. All joy is a hate crime. All pancakes with gooey syrup are hate crimes.
There is a level of supreme victimhood that cries out for a universal state of suicidal depression that no French Toast can cure.
