It’s a Wednesday night. My stomach rumbles like that random earthquake that somehow spread from Virginia to Australia. I try to silence it with a snack, perhaps a processed potato covered in cheese and served in a red bag will quench my palate.
No such luck. The trek begins.
I arrive at the dining hall. The line is out the door, an omen of the cuisine in which we are all about to partake. The girl in front of me asks if I know what the special is. I say, “I think it’s chicken. Or salami.”
I have no idea. She’s cute, I panicked.
I ache for food. I have never ached for something so badly. Except maybe the one time I ached because I broke my arm. That might have been a worse ache. Still, this ache is at least second on my all-time ache list. Then again, it’s a short list. Is the length of the list really relevant? I get caught up in minutiae. Because I ache so badly for food.
The line moves slowly, like a high school couple in Utah. The waiting begins to get to me, digging into my soul, puncturing my urethra. Or maybe it’s from that girl from the bar the other night…
Either way, my urethra burns.
Finally, I approach the hot food section. This is the moment I have been waiting for, the stars have aligned for this very particular moment to occur. The back of the line cheers, “Hooray, he’s going to eat!” This is glorious, this is what life is about, this is the epitome of a good thing coming to those””in this case, there’s only one “those,” a “they,” really, but a singular they, so technically a “he”””who wait. This is the happiest moment of my life, this is what the past 20-odd years have been leading up to, the reason my parents conceived me, my entire purpose for being, the sole””
Are you kidding me, TURKEY CRANBERRY PIZZA?! You can’t just take last night’s meal and put it on pizza, you stupid motherfu””
Now that I think about it, Domino’s could be the true entire purpose for being”¦
