The Joneses ethics

He bumped his head, that’s how it started. I’ve got nothing to do with this, but you wanted a story. Although, I’m not the one to tell it. You need to ask Sally for the dirt. But say story in place of dirt. She tends to be literal and might actually hand you dirt. Ha, who am I kidding, there’s no Sally. Christ, there’s no story. I wish there was one, that would be more interesting. If there was a story, you’d leave me alone. What do I look like to you? A friggin’ book? I’m surprised that I’ve been able to explain this to you this far. I have a hard time with words and putting them together. The teachers have all said the same thing, “he needs to apply himself.” But what do you tell them that you’ve applied and they’ve rejected your application? Apparently my effort, according to them, was a lack of effort. So what the hell are they teaching me? I’m not worth their time. So I’ve given up on pleasing them and tried to please myself. It’s a hard task when trying to keep up with the Joneses. These people seem superior in all respects. They’ve done nothing for anyone but themselves. In turn, this has caused many hardships for others. So what’s this story I was going to tell… Oh yeah, go ask Sally.

I ate a cheeseburger that nearly killed me.

Well at least I thought it was about to kill me. Maybe not in that very instant, but in due time, compounded with many other like cheeseburgers. It was strange, honestly. I looked up at all those tantalizing combos projected upon that ominously back-lit menu, and I pondered the meal befitting my appetite.

Heck, it was one of those days where everything looked good, there was no fault to be found. But let’s get serious here, there were faults, I was just hungry so everything looked tasty. After seizing up the menu, I settled on the combo #3. Not first, but not second. In other words, a close contender.

As I stood in line for my glorious #3, I noticed the fry cook sneezing into his hands. Okay, we’ve all done that, it’s hard to avoid. Oh wait, what’s this? He’s not changing his gloves… Welp I can feel the sickness begin, but maybe I’m just being too prissy. Forget it, we’re all breathing in the same air. But wait a sec, he’s now touching raw me and then grabbing slices of cheese. I’d say something but my burger is already in the process of being made.

So the buzzer sounds, ding!, and that’s when I start to drool. It’s an involuntary reaction from years of conditioning, but no need to stop it now. Anyways, this cheeseburger is done and I’m ready to dig in. Oh right, I need to pay. I was so excited in my burger annihilation that I nearly forgot to pay.

I pull out my wallet and proceed to pay the kindly cashier. Boy, did she ever have a large smile. Stretched from ear to ear, nearly cutting her head in two equal parts. That’s fine by me. It’s not often that I’ve encountered a genuinely happy service employee. Okay, back to the burger. Sorry for the distraction, but it needs mention.

I hurriedly pay the young girl, grab my tray and expertly navigate to the most remote table in the establishment. I set the tray down upon the table, I take off my jacket and place it on the back of the chair, then sit down. Proceeding slowly, all the while being full conscious of the copious amount of drool pouring forth from my mouth, I slowly begin the unwrapping ceremony.

With each crinkle, my eyes widened to the eventual prize. Undressed in all its glory, there my precious cheeseburger stood. Well it didn’t actually stand. I mean, if it did, we’d definitely blame hormone injections for this odd meat. So graciously slopped upon it’s aluminum silver carpet, my cheeseburger shimmered in all its greasy glory. The fries stretched to the sky, begging to be eaten first, but I brushed them aside… gently, no need to spill food.

Taking the cheeseburger into my anxiously shaking hands, I proceeded to lasciviously lick my lips, smacking them to no end. Here we go, this is it. The cheeseburger neared entry. The drool was flowing double time. There weren’t enough napkins to help the situation. The steam of the burger was warming my lips. So close now, just a little bit more and I’d be in flavour crystal heaven.

Just as my teeth hit the bun, that’s when two guys, dressed in what you may consider athletic wear, which is half true, decided to rob the joint. FUCK! Are you serious. I just sat down, after a long days work, to a meal I didn’t have to prepare, and they want to ruin my reward… Fuck that shit! I got up, in outrage, and stepped up to the armed men.Well wasn’t that a dumb move. Then again, I wasn’t in the right state of mind, I was hangry.

As I made my way to the one armed man to contest their bullshit, he pointed his gun at me and yelled, “GET THE FUCK BACK OR YOU’LL LOSE OUT ON MORE THAN JUST YOUR BURGER!” Enough said. I like a ready meal any time but I enjoy life more than this burger, albeit the burger was cooked to perfection.

Begrudgingly I sat back down. The robbers were fast and efficient. They took what they needed and left. Nobody was harmed, more importantly, I was able to consume the goods I purchased. I took a huge bite, maybe more than I could chew. That’s when I began to choke. I tried drinking my iced tea but it wasn’t washing down the clog. Asphyxiating, I was fortunate enough to have a fellow customer come to my rescue. It wasn’t until I was saved from choking that I was actually able to enjoy my burger. And what a satisfying taste I experienced after such strife.

What’s the moral of the story? Some things are just not worth the aggravation. Although, in this case, it was worth every second. And I’d do it again. Why? Because whenever I feel like making up a story, I can and will. It satisfies like the cheeseburger, only the hurt incurred is the one I willingly put myself through.

Cheeseburgers are good, but stories are better. Chew on that when you think of downing something harmful. It may be less harmful, or not. I’m no doctor.