So the day started about five-ish (I slept in) and I got to the gym at exactly the same time as the little Filipina I've been trying to work for the last week and a half. Heck, after several months of observation and tracking, I finally managed to establish some convo while stretching in the otherwise empty Group X room. That thing is tight. And built. And probably out of my reach. Well as the day wore on, I showed, jumped in the car, turned on talk radio as I headed for the long trek to work, and immediately I started thinking of the only other thing I can think about for 23 hours straight. Food. That's right. I was debilitating, repudiating, validating, negotiating, classificating, and vacillating over what to have for lunch. Salad? Burger? Fish & "chips?" Thai? Vietnamese? Chinese? What if my (in the imaginary sense) Filipina was to accompany me? What would she like? Ribs? I'll bet she likes ribs. I can hella make ribs. But think about it. Having a Filipina is like having a Asian, and a Latina, at... at... at... at the same time! Yes! That's it, that's the key, not just a burger, but a DOUBLE burger!!!! Now I'm freakin' starved. But just to be clear, I'm in devour mode, not freak mode. I was in freak mode this morning. I need food. I'll be in freak mode tomorrow morning. And probably tonight depending on what walks in the door of the pub and how many drinks I've had, should the two lines of the drink curve and the sliding standards curve manage to come to an intersection. Usually as the day progresses it's an eight or nine up until approximately 6:00 p.m., dropping by a count of one each hour with an acceleration factor until it's just time to GO HOME. Well Carl's Jr. has this Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger with like two burger patties, cheese, bacon, onion rings, and some bbq sauce, so I opt for that. I walk in the place and the exchange goes something like this: Me: "I would like a Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger, lettuce wrapped please." Jamaal: "Okay so one Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger, lettuce wrapped, and would you like that in a combo?" He looked new at this. (Okay, I have to interject. I hate combos. I f***ng HATE combos. The last time I ordered a combo at Carl's they gave me a salad AND fries. I thought they overcharged me. So I don't order combos. Take your combo and put it, but anyway....) Me: "No thanks, just a side salad. To go." I probably didn't hold the little laminated paper to go number (19, nananana nineteen, that's the song reference by the way, should you wonder the relevance) more than a couple minutes when Sergio managed to throw the burger on the ready line and Franklin the manager scooped it up and sent me on my way. But a little more on the Paul Hardcastle song. The more I think about it, the more relevance it has. I was involved in the battle of Poon Tang. Something was wrong, I knew it. Just like when the little bald headed punk tried to make convo with my Filipina this morning, ****ing me off, the sack (and ultimately, later, the Sac) felt light. I get back to my office, finish my salad, and my worst fear was confirmed. It was a single. I was SHORTED A BURGER!! I paid for a double. I never eat a single unless it's at least a half pound patty. Who screwed me? Jamaal? He rung it up as a double. Sergio? Maybe that particular burger was someone else's? (Who else would have ordered a lettuce wrap?) Franklin the Manager? It was wrapped up in paper when he grabbed it. It was either Sergio or Franklin. I think they both have a share of the blame. I should have saved my receipt. I should have checked it. Kind like I need to put that bald headed punk ass kid in check. But what am I going to do. I'm not driving all the way back there to call them on it. Besides I already ate the burger and I tossed the receipt while I was waiting for it. I'm still hungry. That didn't cut it. It's awkward going back out to another burger place to order another single. That will probably end up being too much food. So rather than having a productive afternoon (which is a ridiculous notion, I'm never productive in the afternoon, I'm burned out by 1:00 p.m.) I will struggle with whether to augment lunch with another burger or not. Maybe someone will walk in with an extra burger. It's happened before. Heck, I've even been the burger offeror, when the burger was mistakenly made with a bun instead of with lettuce. I'm like all agro now. Like the skinny pit bull that has been deliberately underfed so it has a mean disposition.