Flammable, With Legs

Just when you think life can be no more humbling, Thursday lunch happens.

The last couple of weeks have been what I am calling "a little rough." After working hard for a couple of months at saving up a nice chunk of bling/change, some car troubles depleted said bling pile. I was and am still in no way impoverished--luckily my foodstamp application impressed the right people.

In all seriousness, it was a sizeable set-back. But money is money. You make it, you spend it--that's the way it goes. On Monday, part of that money equation took a hit (read: you make it). Due to some downsizing I lost my cush job at a software development company.

Again, a set-back. But it's ok. Actually, in a case of providential coincidence a couple of job offers fell in my lap. One that is a sure thing and one that I'm waiting to hear about. So all is well or at least has some serious potential to be well in the job market.

But today at lunch I hit rock bottom. Actually, I hit rock bottom and then got up off of the rock, lifted it out of the way, laid myself prostrate where the rock once had been and dug my way a good mantle-and-a-crust below "rock bottom."

It was about 2:30 and I finally tore away from editing video (I'm finishing out the week at the softare development place) and headed off to get some lunch. I sat in my truck (read: for sale so I can buy food) and pondered my options. I wanted something cheap and fast. I was hungry but not for anything specific. Then the best and also the worst idea came to me. I went to Cici's.

There are few things in life more humbling both to the soul and to the gastro-intestinal fortidude than a meal at Cici's. But my humility was increased ten-fold--I went alone.

The nice girl behind the counter looked at me with a snicker--"Just one?" she asked. Indeed. Just one. Just me.

By then it was 2:50. With the lunch rush long past the pizza remaining on the buffet reminded me of something I saw at the museum of natural history. So I sat down to a piping tepid plate of Paleolithic Pizza with a red plastic goblet of unsweet iced tea (the Cadillac of teas). I tapped my toes to the beat of poorly chosen 80's music while watching a muted version of "All My Young and Restless Bold and Beautiful Children with Various Passions Concerning the World Turning to General Hospital with Only One Life to Live." Plus, I was just a smidge past chilly.

I made three trips for pizza, the last time racing a woman who was getting food for her grandchild and a 60-year-old man wearing an unbuttoned FUBU baseball jersey.

And you thought you knew me.