Ah, pizza day at school. There’s a couple of these a month and it’s a sweet reprieve from the backbreaking obligation of microwaving soup for 2 minutes for my kid’s lunch. Sorry, toilet. That extra two minutes with my butthole while I pooped and web surfed was pizza’s fault, and not in the usual way pizza leads me to you. We still friends? Yeah? Ok, good. Eat shit and live, good buddy.
Headed to Subway for lunch today when I realized I had 5 dollars left on a Dairy Queen gift card burning a hole in my wallet, so I made a detour. Pulled in and parked as a bike-riding degenerate with a backpack wheeled in. Walked in just after him and he approached the counter with a possible fake limp. I overheard him ask for the manager and then start berating the man while waving a gift card in his face. Not since the Dairy Scream incident of ‘05 has someone been so enraged in this holiest of places.
I figured the goober was trying to use a defunct card he found in the gutter next to his “bed” in the hopes of exchanging it for cash. While he was hustling the manager, I approached and ordered a fantastic 4 chicken strip basket and whipped my own gift card out with authority. Dude behind the counter said, Oh, sorry, we can’t accept gift cards. We’ve changed ownership and can’t accept or sell them yet. Maybe next Monday, which probably explained what bikey’s complaint was about. On any other day I would’ve had to choke the plump employee out, but since Alfonzo the alley dweller was well on his way to scamming a free order of fries his damn self, I vetoed the notion of stealing his thunder.
I got my food and went to find a seat. My bad fortune changed as I happened upon a booth where someone had left 2 unopened barbecue sauces. Hmm, and I’d been given 2 of my own. That was no accident. I hadn’t gone there by chance. I do not believe in chance. When I see four sauce tubs, four chicken strips. I do not see coincidence. I see providence. I see purpose. I believe it was my fate to be there. My destiny. I believe those sauces held for me, the very meaning of my life.
That was Morpheus’s speech from Matrix Reloaded, but it also works for a middle-aged dweeb about to give four deep fried chicken strips solo head-to-toe sauce baths, right?