Waking up at 11 a.m.
Breakfast: Everything Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice.
In the shopping center parking lot—selling a twin mattress to a 20-something from Turkey.
Me: “Alright, man. Enjoy the mattress.”
Him (in Turkish accent): “You have a place to house my friends and me?”
Me: “How many friends do you have?”
Him: “Twenty.”
Delivering an order off Chase Pointe Circle. These guys order almost everyday.
Me: “You’re a platinum customer.”
Rachel lives just across the street so I drop in for a hot second. Finally meeting her father, the ultimate dad-on-dad collision. He’s got a Public Speaking book out and looks like he’s studying.
Rachel: “See, look at the glasses, and you both have scruff.”
Me: “I don’t know where this dad analogy came from. I think psychologically it’s gonna deter me from having kids one day because it feels like I already have them.”
Rachel’s wearing a pink bathing suit ready to go to the beach—waiting on Eden. Walking into her room.
Me: “So this is where you take all your Facebook photos.”
Peaches.
In the restaurant waiting for orders to come through. Observing a talkative old lady wearing a blue shirt with a silver starfish on it. She’s in a wheelchair having a conversation with another lady, who seems to be her grown-up daughter.
Old Lady: “He tells me, you’re friends are strange. I don’t know. They just kind of gravitate towards me.”
Then they start discussing ingredients on a particular dish they’re going to make tonight. [see above photo]
Lunch: Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Kettle Cooked Chips with Avocado. Honey Green Tea.
A guy wearing black boots, glasses, and a little bit of grey-haired scruff on his face walks in and orders this:
Steamed Dumplings
Sweet & Sour Chicken
Sesame Chicken Combination Dinner
Shrimp Lo Mein
Bottle Ginger Ale
Man: “And I’ll be eating here.”
Me: “Oh, do you have other people joining you?”
Man: “Nope.”
So this is all for one man and one sitting. Ling smiles at me as he carries the third tray of food to our hungry man. He at least takes what he doesn’t eat to go. I was beginning to worry that the stereotype of Americans being gluttons is true. But it kind of is.
A girl walks in. She’s one of our regular take-out customers. She’s a talker and starts describing in detail a situation she went through today where a friend she’s known for two years stole her $300 camera. He got arrested this morning for it. The deliveries have been slow-coming so I invite her to sit down. Relaying my own theft experiences to try and relate. Examining her face as she talks. She’s not necessarily drop dead gorgeous but there is a charming and slightly dorky persona to her.
Vanilla Yogurt.
Apparently I didn’t get the memo that it was NATIONAL DON’T TIP DAY because the “SHIT” tips are racking up like crazy.
Shit Tip /sh’t tip/ n. An amount of money that is not given to someone for the service of delivering food; lack of tip.
Starting to feel a rage build up inside me. I find no restraint from yelling obscenities out my window even if someone happens to hear it. I accelerate faster and drive more aggressively. I need to feel in control. It’s amazing how much the desire to destroy overrides your system when you feel out of control. White Stripes’ Icky Thump blaring on the stereo—air drumming with determination. Let the bystanders at the stoplight observe this. I don’t care! “I will fuck you up!”
Eventually, I calm down. At home sipping a cold Miller High Life. Jamil’s here picking up his bike—chatting with him about my day.
Dinner: Spaghetti with Tomato Basil Sauce, Onions, and Green Peppers. Garlic Bread.
Researching.
Sleep 3:30 a.m.
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