I’m already slightly embarrassed as this story begins, for as i pull into Bartlesville, I’m caught giving a stage worthy performance, in my car, of Nicki Minaj’s SuperBass (very proudly, I might add, as I finally know the lyrics by heart). the teenage boys who see this follow along side me, pointing and laughing, the entire rest of the drive of shame (I had to keep going, couldn’t let them know this was not the ideal time for my show to open).
mid-song, i am finally able to pull off the road to the restaurant where I am picking up a basket of rolls for today’s Thanksgiving dinner.
and, would you believe it… the line is out the front door, wrapping itself around the building.
this is GOLDEN CORRAL.
after finally parking illegally next to a dumpster, I join the masses salivating at the thought of the buffet ahead. thirty seconds of waiting pass before i decide to scope out whether or not i can just squeeze in the front door ( rolls were ordered a half hour ago, i’m certain they are boxed and waiting for a home). attempting to slip past the obese woman holding the door open, I’m immediately halted by angry, fat America (just a foreshadowing of Black Friday, I’m certain):
“get in line!”
“who the hell does she think she is!”
… and a slew of more angry phrases not to be repeated.
after unsuccessfully convincing the crowd I’m not gorging myself at the buffet, I simply need to pick up an order of rolls I placed earlier, I decide it’s not worth it.
holding my tongue (jesus would have never yelled, “you’re just angry cause you are fat and your life sucks!!!”), i storm back to my 4runner.
jumping in, throwing the car in reverse, I slam on the gas, and accelerate directly into a huge black f-150 (crowd is staring).
of course I hop out of my car and run to see the damage. nothing. these are both heavy duty vehicles built to withstand such mishaps. the hungry crowd leers, waiting to see my course of action.
continuing to feed their anger, I climb back inside my car, while hearing, “stop that girl!” “hit and run!”
shooting an ugly glare and waving the pen and paper at the crowd, I pretend to scribble my note (in actuality a nice little stick figure drawing; there was no damage and that’s what you get for parking me in.)
thank God for this 4runner: squealing my tires I loudly blaze forward, ramping up the grassy hill behind golden corral, and, to the astonishment of the crowd, swerve wildly through a mud put before I finally straighten out and make my escape through a dry field.
back to Nicki and my superbass and sorry we don’t have rolls this thanksgiving dinner.
