An almost unbelievably slow 20 minutes passed until my phone pinged my order had arrived; I flounced down the hallway, into the elevator, down 6 floors and into the lobby without seeing another person which, as I referenced before, is par for the course for my building. And so of course waiting for me was:
As in, what's normally used to lug (I promise that's the correct word) orders such as:
Long story probably even longer, on my walk/elevator ride back upstairs suddenly the fucking cast of Ben-Hur shows up; I go weeks without sharing an elevator & now was in one crowded with people staring at a guy holding a foot locker of what they'd rightfully assume to be fried chicken. I tried to make a lame joke like "hey, party at #613!" or “I didn’t even know Bo’s had salads this big!” but trying to pass myself off as anything other than a big fat fuck scurrying back to his apartment to eat a toddler’s body worth of Bojangles fried chicken, probably in his tighty-whities while screaming at X-Files dvds, was futile at best (at worst? cultural appropriation 😔).Once back in my kitchen, this was how the inside of the box looked:
I sprinted back out into the hallway to shout out to all the people who'd been wandering around the halls/stuffed into the elevator , but nobody was there. I tried to do an Ebenezer Scrooge at the end of A Christmas Carol thing ("at the end of A Christmas Carol"...as opposed to the end of that very special episode of Diff'rent Strokes with Gordon Jump, I suppose?") by throwing open my window & shouting out the truth into the streets, but my window only opens about 4 inches so the best I could do was look like a fucking idiot instead.
Of course.
And yes. The biscuit was fucking incredible.
The tea was fine. I guess. Who remembers tea?



No comments:
Post a Comment