I went out to eat at Arby’s last night. They have these great coupons that let me have two mediocre, over-priced sandwiches for the price of one mediocre, over-priced combo meal. And my brother was in town.
We ordered our food right as a crowd of people hungrily clawed their way inside behind us. Between chatting politics and general tiredness, I failed to notice that it had been over 20 minutes and neither of us had food.
We walked over to find Rich’s food there, but not mine. About eight other hungry people were milling about. I figured my French Dip and accompanying Philly Beef were still merrily sizzling away in the patented Arby’s cow processing oven.
After another ten minutes, I decided to hang around by the counter. The food worker asked me what I was waiting for, to which I showed her my receipt.
“That?” she said. “Oh somebody already took that. Was it your friend.”
No, Rich had the chicken.
When my friend arrived, I told him this story, and he started laughing. “There’s a homeless guy standing out by the sign. He’s eating food out there.”
It was a cold night.
“I was wondering why someone would want to eat outside tonight.”
Perhaps it was a mix-up. I have my doubts. The bum is guilty.
Well, I should have compassion, I mean, he’s probably homeless and hungry. Very hungry. So hungry, in fact …