KFC had no chicken on hand. The cashier, however, must have had her own ideas about how to handle the situation. She was perfectly comfortable with the fact that I ordered a variety bucket o' chicken though my meal was not to appear.
Let me back this up, because although the non-chicken order was the highlight of my day...or, lowlight...I have background material that helps to make this episode more poignant..
When we last updated, I got a haircut and Psycho Ex got back together with Abusive Asshole, after coming to me crying with no job, no money, and no place to live. This was after I helped get her a job and paid her rent.
Asshole would have given her money if she got back with him (keep in mind...he called her a whore on many occasions, so this logic makes sense), but she was 'done with him forever.' I was more than happy to help. However, it appears that all I did was save Asshole the trouble of giving her $865 and a bag of groceries.
"it's your life. Do what you want with it. Later."
That's what I told her a week ago today.
I decided that Juliette needed my company, so we took a trip down to South Beach to buy some overpriced things and look like a rich couple. We do make quite a pair. If she was as freaky as me, we would make one hell of a couple. Alas, she is not psycho enough for me to be attracted to her, although she is very beautiful (VERY).
We ate a light lunch at Van Dyke's, a popular spot that in the evening/night hours offers live jazz. During the day, however, they offer nothing of the sort. Our hostess was a smokey-eyed brunette, stunning, but we were passed on to our waitress, a dishwater blonde with the personality of a cardboard box left on the curb after a light drizzle.
I was torn between the fruit salad and the yogurt. Boxgirl recommended the fruit salad. I ordered it and a cuban steak sandwich. My fruit salad came with moldy grapes, and my sandwich was like shoeleather on a lufa.
People that haven't seen me since I left Chicago ask me how the fuck I went from 240# to 158#...it is quite simple. The only thing worth eating in Florida is grapefruit.
We went to a fashionable boutique called Preview. We were greeted by the Chosen One.
I don't know how old she is, but she is perfect. I am in love. Fortunately for me, I am ON, and everything I say is comedy gold. She is enraptured by my goofiness. She asks me about the books I bought earlier...I explain them in detail, although the concept of Hunter S. Thompson eludes her. She is not from here...her accent is familiar but I don't know why. Later I ask Juliette, she says Israeli.
I walk out with 3 $50 t-shirts, an $86 belt, and a $90 (marked down from $170) long-sleeved shirt that somehow I can pull off, although it looks like some type of Chevrolet seat cover from the '60s.
Wow, I say. I have to come back.
Sarah (the one who got beat up by her psycho husband, left him, moved in with some guy, got very upset when the guy she was living with stopped sleeping with her casually and got into a relationship with some other girl, then decided that she needed to work things out with the psycho husband) flew in to spend the week with me on Monday.
You see, men trust me with their women. I don't know why. They love to send their women to see me. I think I should also mention that Sarah and I dated 6 years ago, after she followed me around with a horrible crush on me for 18 months. Still, however, I guess I am to be trusted.
Sarah talked about her situation a lot. This is what I need, because it takes me off the drama llama with Ex Psycho. We came awfully close to some situations, though. Tuesday night, we went out to play pool at a spot where my druggie hippy girl friend works. Immediately hippy girl says to me "GO TO THE BACK SHE'S HERE" referring to The Fat Chick, who has been obsessing over me for 7 months. The Fat Chick met me and the Ex Psycho at a bar 7 months ago, the Ex Psycho got jealous (it's like a Ferrari getting jealous of a minivan) and things were never the same. Somehow I introduced Fat Chick to Hippy girl and they became friends, although Hippy girl tells me about how Fat Chick is jealous because she thinks I want to be with Hippy Girl, which is ludicrous because I really don't like kids, and Hippy girl is the proud owner of one.
I ducked to the back.
Apparently, Ex Psycho and Asshole were just there earlier...great...for someone who never gets any action, I sure did have a lot of women who I have been with before in some way or another in the same place.
Like a midget at the urinal, I stayed on my toes.
The night passed without incident, until we got back here. Sarah wants to screw now.
Ummm....no. You don't want to. You are married still and I really don't think it's a good idea and I don't want to screw up our friendship. Kindly take your hand off my pants.
She passed out on my bed and I went to sleep downstairs on the couch, to ensure that the night would pass without incident (I really am a decent guy).
Thursday I drop Sarah off at the beach while I work. About 6 PM I go to pick her up.
"Oh but I am having so much fun!!"
"Well...I would love to stay here, but I have an office party to get to. You can stay here and take a cab back up to Lauderdale if you want."
She almost did it. Almost stayed to take an $80 cab ride back to my place so she could stay with the firefighters she met on the beach. She was a little drunk.
I ain't her daddy. I wasn't going to keep her from doing anything she might regret...as long as it wasn't anything that I would regret, I don't care. She decides to go with me, though.
As she is coming to my car, the phone rings.
Ex Psycho.
"Hey Ben blah blah blah"
"hey...yeah I really want to talk too but I am with someone and I kinda have plans"
"ok call later if you want"
We go to the office drinking thing. Everyone knows about me and the Ex Psycho. She, me, and Asshole all worked there until she quit. He was the manager and got fired...what a shame. Of course, I know that being seen with a new girl will cause a whirlwind of speculation.
It sure does. I know Ex Psycho will hear about this...she has a ring of spies.
Sarah is upset, though. She is contemplating her life, and weighing the benefits of her husband when compared to the firefighters. I listen to this for 8 hours.
Text message at 2:30 AM from Ex Psycho: THANKS FOR CALLING I AM GLAD YOU CARE GOOD NIGHT
yay
Went shopping with Sarah down on South Beach again...the same girl was working. Her name is Ina and she is from Russia. Sarah is embarassed because this girl likes me so much. She tells me to come back again. I think I will.
Juliette tells me that Asshole has been calling HER to ask her out on dates.
I can't get out of this mess...none of it has ANYTHING to do with me. I am a loner, and I haven't had a MINUTE to myself in 5 days. Sarah tells me that she is staying an extra day. I try to get her the fuck out of my hair for a few hours but it strts raining and she gets scared. I am starting to crack from the pressure...I need to be ALONE. Ex Psycho is sending me messages. Sarah is bitching about her husband and firemen. ALL I WANT IS TO FUCKING SIT DOWN AND PLAY VIDEO GAMES WITH MY CAT MOTHERFUCKERS
I brought Sarah to the airport today. I finally had a minute's peace, and, of course, you know what happened...
I got lonely. I got so lonely I was crying. It was ridiculous. I had nothing, nobody to talk to, I was so depressed that all I could do was lay on the couch hugging a pillow, and cry like Tammy Faye Bakker chopping onions.
The decision to get chicken came suddenly.
Ahh...yes. Chicken. KFC. The beginning of this journal entry.
I am hungry enough to eat the asshole out of a dead rhino. I get in the car and Juliette immediately calls. We are chatting about our psycho exes as I get to KFC. I look at the drive through lane and there are about 15 cars in it, and I see a few minivans. Fuck that, I am going inside.
I look at the cashier. She looks at me.
Nothing.
I say "Hi there!"
Nothing.
"Can I make an order?"
Nothing.
....
Nothing.
"can I get a variety bucket?"
"ten fiddy nine"
Oh, she speaks. I give her the money. SHe counts the 10 and the 1 that I give her 14 times, then counts out 41 cents change over a period of approximately 7 years.
I am waiting patiently for my variety bucket..
Later, I am waiting IMpatiently for my variety bucket.
This guy working there has these pants on that are designed so that the crotch of them is around his knees even though the waist is where it is supposed to be. He says something about there not being any muhfuckin' chicken.
I ask the cashier for my money back.
Nothing.
I am not going through this. I tell MC Hammer over there to get me my money back. He gets the manager. She gets me my money. I leave to go to another KFC. I have been at this one for 36 minutes.
There is no way to turn left in Broward County. Every street has a concrete median and every traffic light is 6 minutes between cycles. I have to leave the KFC parking lot at 65 MPH to get over to the far lane so that I can make a u-turn and head the opposite direction. You have to leave the parking lot at 65 because if you don't you will get run over by either an Escalade with 24" dubs or a 95 ton pickup truck with a NASCAR bumper sticker that is coming from the Arby's parking lot next door trying to make the same u-turn that you are trying to do. There are approximately 74 Escalades and NASCAR rednecks all trying to do this...the rest of the traffic is minivans filled with those little fucking kids that got the KFC that I was waiting in the store for for half an hour before Hammer spilled the beans that there was no more chicken and it was a big joke on Whitey.
I narrowly escape death and make the u-turn. Now, I have to get in the left turn lane.
Every intersection in Broward County is large enough to turn a medium-sized oil tanker in. The amount of time required to do that with a medium-sized oil tanker is about how long the traffic signal cycle is.
I have to sit through 4 cycles of the light. 4 CYCLES.
Once I am actually heading north, 3 Escalades in tandem are practicing for the Synchronized Retard competition. They are in all lanes driving slower than Corky from Life Goes On blasting their Fiddy Cent, of which I am not a fan.
I left my house over an hour ago for some fucking chicken. I could have incubated an egg in my ass and hatched a Rhode Island Red and fried it my damn self and saved valuable seconds needed for anger management therapy.
I get to KFC #2. 4 cars in the drive through. I get in line, happily anticipating my extra-crispy 11 secret herbs and spices.
12 minutes later, there are still those same 4 cars in line. I haven't even made my order yet.
I squealed out of the parking lot, for great justice. I am just going home.
I remembered suddenly that there is a Wing Stop on the way...fuck yeah, better than going to bed hungry, I say. I pull into the parking lot. Luckily, it's all right turns from here to home.
Phone rings. It's Sarah. She wasn't just calling me to tell me that she got in safely; she called to tell me that she left her phone charger in my wall. She wants me to mail it.
I count to 10. It's not her fault. Whatever she is going through right now is about 10 times worse than what I am experiencing.
"Sweetie I am not going to go to the post office to spend $7 to mail you a $5 charger. You might want to just go to Walgreens and get one."
Wing Stop. The smug boy behind the counter assures me that I am not man enough to have the Atomic sauce. I defy him and order 20 wings, Atomic.
Time to wait. THere are no clean tables. I have to sit at a dirty table next to a large couple and their 2 year old. I did mention that I love kids, right?
You can smell the sarcasm, I know.
I am now highly annoyed. I am concentrating on my breathing. The next table is irritating in a Jerry Lewis/Urkel/Newman kind of way. It's not the kid, though. The kid is fine. It's the adults.
She's eating like an Ethiopian stoner and he is talking to his daughter, Chloe.
Chloe wants to sit upside down. At least she is being quiet.
He, on the other hand, is not.
He is admonishing his daughter to be good, but he is speaking in a high pitched squeal that you would expect coming from a helium addict.
CHLOE SIT UP CHLOE CHLOE BE GOOD LOOK AT DADDY CHLOE CHLOE EAT YOUR CHICKEN CHLOE HAVE MORE CHICKEN CHLOE CHLOE CHLOE BLAH BLAH BLAH
Chloe is going to have control issues later on in life.
18 minutes to get my wings.
I got the fuck out of there like Osama BinLaden out of a KKK/NRA rally meeting in North Carolina. At Christmas.
I got home and ate the wings. I can assure you that I am man enough to eat the Atomic sauce, even though I am not man enough that normally psychotically jealous men keep their women away from me.
The moral of the story is that if you ever take more than 2 hours to get some fucking chicken, you might as well go down to South Beach and get the Russian gir's phone number. So, that's what I am doing when I get hungry tomorrow.
Later.
Let me back this up, because although the non-chicken order was the highlight of my day...or, lowlight...I have background material that helps to make this episode more poignant..
When we last updated, I got a haircut and Psycho Ex got back together with Abusive Asshole, after coming to me crying with no job, no money, and no place to live. This was after I helped get her a job and paid her rent.
Asshole would have given her money if she got back with him (keep in mind...he called her a whore on many occasions, so this logic makes sense), but she was 'done with him forever.' I was more than happy to help. However, it appears that all I did was save Asshole the trouble of giving her $865 and a bag of groceries.
"it's your life. Do what you want with it. Later."
That's what I told her a week ago today.
I decided that Juliette needed my company, so we took a trip down to South Beach to buy some overpriced things and look like a rich couple. We do make quite a pair. If she was as freaky as me, we would make one hell of a couple. Alas, she is not psycho enough for me to be attracted to her, although she is very beautiful (VERY).
We ate a light lunch at Van Dyke's, a popular spot that in the evening/night hours offers live jazz. During the day, however, they offer nothing of the sort. Our hostess was a smokey-eyed brunette, stunning, but we were passed on to our waitress, a dishwater blonde with the personality of a cardboard box left on the curb after a light drizzle.
I was torn between the fruit salad and the yogurt. Boxgirl recommended the fruit salad. I ordered it and a cuban steak sandwich. My fruit salad came with moldy grapes, and my sandwich was like shoeleather on a lufa.
People that haven't seen me since I left Chicago ask me how the fuck I went from 240# to 158#...it is quite simple. The only thing worth eating in Florida is grapefruit.
We went to a fashionable boutique called Preview. We were greeted by the Chosen One.
I don't know how old she is, but she is perfect. I am in love. Fortunately for me, I am ON, and everything I say is comedy gold. She is enraptured by my goofiness. She asks me about the books I bought earlier...I explain them in detail, although the concept of Hunter S. Thompson eludes her. She is not from here...her accent is familiar but I don't know why. Later I ask Juliette, she says Israeli.
I walk out with 3 $50 t-shirts, an $86 belt, and a $90 (marked down from $170) long-sleeved shirt that somehow I can pull off, although it looks like some type of Chevrolet seat cover from the '60s.
Wow, I say. I have to come back.
Sarah (the one who got beat up by her psycho husband, left him, moved in with some guy, got very upset when the guy she was living with stopped sleeping with her casually and got into a relationship with some other girl, then decided that she needed to work things out with the psycho husband) flew in to spend the week with me on Monday.
You see, men trust me with their women. I don't know why. They love to send their women to see me. I think I should also mention that Sarah and I dated 6 years ago, after she followed me around with a horrible crush on me for 18 months. Still, however, I guess I am to be trusted.
Sarah talked about her situation a lot. This is what I need, because it takes me off the drama llama with Ex Psycho. We came awfully close to some situations, though. Tuesday night, we went out to play pool at a spot where my druggie hippy girl friend works. Immediately hippy girl says to me "GO TO THE BACK SHE'S HERE" referring to The Fat Chick, who has been obsessing over me for 7 months. The Fat Chick met me and the Ex Psycho at a bar 7 months ago, the Ex Psycho got jealous (it's like a Ferrari getting jealous of a minivan) and things were never the same. Somehow I introduced Fat Chick to Hippy girl and they became friends, although Hippy girl tells me about how Fat Chick is jealous because she thinks I want to be with Hippy Girl, which is ludicrous because I really don't like kids, and Hippy girl is the proud owner of one.
I ducked to the back.
Apparently, Ex Psycho and Asshole were just there earlier...great...for someone who never gets any action, I sure did have a lot of women who I have been with before in some way or another in the same place.
Like a midget at the urinal, I stayed on my toes.
The night passed without incident, until we got back here. Sarah wants to screw now.
Ummm....no. You don't want to. You are married still and I really don't think it's a good idea and I don't want to screw up our friendship. Kindly take your hand off my pants.
She passed out on my bed and I went to sleep downstairs on the couch, to ensure that the night would pass without incident (I really am a decent guy).
Thursday I drop Sarah off at the beach while I work. About 6 PM I go to pick her up.
"Oh but I am having so much fun!!"
"Well...I would love to stay here, but I have an office party to get to. You can stay here and take a cab back up to Lauderdale if you want."
She almost did it. Almost stayed to take an $80 cab ride back to my place so she could stay with the firefighters she met on the beach. She was a little drunk.
I ain't her daddy. I wasn't going to keep her from doing anything she might regret...as long as it wasn't anything that I would regret, I don't care. She decides to go with me, though.
As she is coming to my car, the phone rings.
Ex Psycho.
"Hey Ben blah blah blah"
"hey...yeah I really want to talk too but I am with someone and I kinda have plans"
"ok call later if you want"
We go to the office drinking thing. Everyone knows about me and the Ex Psycho. She, me, and Asshole all worked there until she quit. He was the manager and got fired...what a shame. Of course, I know that being seen with a new girl will cause a whirlwind of speculation.
It sure does. I know Ex Psycho will hear about this...she has a ring of spies.
Sarah is upset, though. She is contemplating her life, and weighing the benefits of her husband when compared to the firefighters. I listen to this for 8 hours.
Text message at 2:30 AM from Ex Psycho: THANKS FOR CALLING I AM GLAD YOU CARE GOOD NIGHT
yay
Went shopping with Sarah down on South Beach again...the same girl was working. Her name is Ina and she is from Russia. Sarah is embarassed because this girl likes me so much. She tells me to come back again. I think I will.
Juliette tells me that Asshole has been calling HER to ask her out on dates.
I can't get out of this mess...none of it has ANYTHING to do with me. I am a loner, and I haven't had a MINUTE to myself in 5 days. Sarah tells me that she is staying an extra day. I try to get her the fuck out of my hair for a few hours but it strts raining and she gets scared. I am starting to crack from the pressure...I need to be ALONE. Ex Psycho is sending me messages. Sarah is bitching about her husband and firemen. ALL I WANT IS TO FUCKING SIT DOWN AND PLAY VIDEO GAMES WITH MY CAT MOTHERFUCKERS
I brought Sarah to the airport today. I finally had a minute's peace, and, of course, you know what happened...
I got lonely. I got so lonely I was crying. It was ridiculous. I had nothing, nobody to talk to, I was so depressed that all I could do was lay on the couch hugging a pillow, and cry like Tammy Faye Bakker chopping onions.
The decision to get chicken came suddenly.
Ahh...yes. Chicken. KFC. The beginning of this journal entry.
I am hungry enough to eat the asshole out of a dead rhino. I get in the car and Juliette immediately calls. We are chatting about our psycho exes as I get to KFC. I look at the drive through lane and there are about 15 cars in it, and I see a few minivans. Fuck that, I am going inside.
I look at the cashier. She looks at me.
Nothing.
I say "Hi there!"
Nothing.
"Can I make an order?"
Nothing.
....
Nothing.
"can I get a variety bucket?"
"ten fiddy nine"
Oh, she speaks. I give her the money. SHe counts the 10 and the 1 that I give her 14 times, then counts out 41 cents change over a period of approximately 7 years.
I am waiting patiently for my variety bucket..
Later, I am waiting IMpatiently for my variety bucket.
This guy working there has these pants on that are designed so that the crotch of them is around his knees even though the waist is where it is supposed to be. He says something about there not being any muhfuckin' chicken.
I ask the cashier for my money back.
Nothing.
I am not going through this. I tell MC Hammer over there to get me my money back. He gets the manager. She gets me my money. I leave to go to another KFC. I have been at this one for 36 minutes.
There is no way to turn left in Broward County. Every street has a concrete median and every traffic light is 6 minutes between cycles. I have to leave the KFC parking lot at 65 MPH to get over to the far lane so that I can make a u-turn and head the opposite direction. You have to leave the parking lot at 65 because if you don't you will get run over by either an Escalade with 24" dubs or a 95 ton pickup truck with a NASCAR bumper sticker that is coming from the Arby's parking lot next door trying to make the same u-turn that you are trying to do. There are approximately 74 Escalades and NASCAR rednecks all trying to do this...the rest of the traffic is minivans filled with those little fucking kids that got the KFC that I was waiting in the store for for half an hour before Hammer spilled the beans that there was no more chicken and it was a big joke on Whitey.
I narrowly escape death and make the u-turn. Now, I have to get in the left turn lane.
Every intersection in Broward County is large enough to turn a medium-sized oil tanker in. The amount of time required to do that with a medium-sized oil tanker is about how long the traffic signal cycle is.
I have to sit through 4 cycles of the light. 4 CYCLES.
Once I am actually heading north, 3 Escalades in tandem are practicing for the Synchronized Retard competition. They are in all lanes driving slower than Corky from Life Goes On blasting their Fiddy Cent, of which I am not a fan.
I left my house over an hour ago for some fucking chicken. I could have incubated an egg in my ass and hatched a Rhode Island Red and fried it my damn self and saved valuable seconds needed for anger management therapy.
I get to KFC #2. 4 cars in the drive through. I get in line, happily anticipating my extra-crispy 11 secret herbs and spices.
12 minutes later, there are still those same 4 cars in line. I haven't even made my order yet.
I squealed out of the parking lot, for great justice. I am just going home.
I remembered suddenly that there is a Wing Stop on the way...fuck yeah, better than going to bed hungry, I say. I pull into the parking lot. Luckily, it's all right turns from here to home.
Phone rings. It's Sarah. She wasn't just calling me to tell me that she got in safely; she called to tell me that she left her phone charger in my wall. She wants me to mail it.
I count to 10. It's not her fault. Whatever she is going through right now is about 10 times worse than what I am experiencing.
"Sweetie I am not going to go to the post office to spend $7 to mail you a $5 charger. You might want to just go to Walgreens and get one."
Wing Stop. The smug boy behind the counter assures me that I am not man enough to have the Atomic sauce. I defy him and order 20 wings, Atomic.
Time to wait. THere are no clean tables. I have to sit at a dirty table next to a large couple and their 2 year old. I did mention that I love kids, right?
You can smell the sarcasm, I know.
I am now highly annoyed. I am concentrating on my breathing. The next table is irritating in a Jerry Lewis/Urkel/Newman kind of way. It's not the kid, though. The kid is fine. It's the adults.
She's eating like an Ethiopian stoner and he is talking to his daughter, Chloe.
Chloe wants to sit upside down. At least she is being quiet.
He, on the other hand, is not.
He is admonishing his daughter to be good, but he is speaking in a high pitched squeal that you would expect coming from a helium addict.
CHLOE SIT UP CHLOE CHLOE BE GOOD LOOK AT DADDY CHLOE CHLOE EAT YOUR CHICKEN CHLOE HAVE MORE CHICKEN CHLOE CHLOE CHLOE BLAH BLAH BLAH
Chloe is going to have control issues later on in life.
18 minutes to get my wings.
I got the fuck out of there like Osama BinLaden out of a KKK/NRA rally meeting in North Carolina. At Christmas.
I got home and ate the wings. I can assure you that I am man enough to eat the Atomic sauce, even though I am not man enough that normally psychotically jealous men keep their women away from me.
The moral of the story is that if you ever take more than 2 hours to get some fucking chicken, you might as well go down to South Beach and get the Russian gir's phone number. So, that's what I am doing when I get hungry tomorrow.
Later.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
It was raining on South Beach like a cow pissing on a flat rock; NOBODY was out. This crazy girl asked me for a light. We struck up a conversation, but then her phone rang. Of course, she had to take it. She was talking to some dude about his dreadlocks.
WAY more important than me.
I left.