Um…Thanks

When I get the late night munchies, I sometimes hit an all-night drive-thru. I might grab some McDonald’s fries or a bean burrito from Taco Bell. One place I avoid, though, is 7-Eleven. Nothing looks less appetizing to me than hot dogs and taquitos spinning on rollers under heat lamps.

Last night I took Allen and Tonya home from Keagan’s at about one in the morning. They were well-sauced. Tonya, a petite blonde with pale blue eyes under a ball cap plopped in the front seat, “You like dirty jokes?” she began.

“I guess.”

“When are there only seven planets?”

“I don’t know, when?”

“After I destroy Uranus.”

I couldn’t think of a response. It was simultaneously terrible, awkward, and nonsensical. I just shook my head.

Allen, from the back seat, observed flatly, “You just told this man you’re going to destroy his anus.”

Tonya slumped down and put her feet up on the dashboard.

“You guys gotta work tomorrow?” I asked.

“Yup,” Tonya said.

“What kind of work–”

“She’s a surgeon.”

“Yeah, I’m a surgeon.”

“Really? What kind of surgeon?”

“Cadavers.”

“You’re a cadaver surgeon? I didn’t know that was a thing. Why would a cadaver need surgery?”

“I take out ACLs for when people get ACL replacements.”

It occurred to me that this is a pretty low-pressure kind of surgery. I mean, if you mess up, what’s the worst that can happen?

“I have water, Jolly Ranchers, and Tootsie Rolls back here, ” I said, “Help yourselves.”

“I didn’t know you were a f–ing unicorn!” Tonya said.

“A unicorn? What does that mean?”

“You have Jolly Ranchers,” she explained. Drunk Tonya lives in her own little world.

We didn’t have far to go, but Allen wanted to make a detour.

“Can we go to 7-Eleven first?”

“Sure. As long as you make it quick, I don’t mind.”

He gave me some shaky directions, but we found it soon enough. Allen went inside. Tonya stayed and talked about the baseball cap as a fashion option. “Men are intimidated by me because I wear a ball cap. And because I’m a surgeon. And I play golf…”

Allen was back in a jiffy.

“Here. This is for you.” He handed me something warm in a silver wrapper.

“For me?”

“I got you a sandwich.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“It’s a chicken sandwich.”

“Great.” I noticed he had nothing else in his hands. “What else did you get?”

“Nothing. That’s it.”

“We came here just so you could get me a sandwich?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t get me a sandwich?” Tonya asked.

“Nope.”

“You can have mine,” I offered.

“No, that’s your sandwich,” she said.

Allen looked confused when I dropped them off at their house. Not wanting to appear ungrateful, I unwrapped it, took a tentative bite and smiled. He seemed pleased. When they got to their front door, I backed out of the driveway and spit the soggy mouthful out the window.

chicken-sandwich

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