A year, year and a half ago, I was sitting in my flat one Saturday evening in December. This was the December with the atrocious snow. Flights were being canceled, bridges were closing. I'd managed to get home from a long day at work, kicked the snow off my shows and put on the heating. I wasn't going outside again that day.
I had a hot shower and reassessed my evening. My fridge was a desperate sight. My block of cheese was moldy and the onions were starting to grow smaller baby onions. The only glimmer of hope in the fridge was the a solitary bottle of Grolsch at the bottom. I popped the cap and went looking for takeaway menus. Chinese. I wanted Chinese. I made my decision and made the phone call.
No deal. The snow was too bad, they weren't delivering that night. My tummy rumbled. Arse.
Pizza, so. I phoned a nearby pizzeria, only five minutes down the road. Again, not delivering. In fact, they were closing early due to the snow. This wasn't looking good. If I went much longer without food I could probably have phoned Oxfam.
Looking outside, the snow was getting heavier and heavier, I could barely make out the buildings on the other side of the street. "It's this or I eat the cheese", I thought, and I phoned a nearby Indian. I convinced them to send out a man with a curry, turned on the telly and put on an episode of Futurama.
Forty minutes later, and I was still hungry. I'd two episodes watched by now, and I was about to put on another. This man with the curry was taking his time. The third episode ended just as the buzzer went. Angry at how long I had to wait, I paid him exactly what I owed him and shut the door in his face. No time to be polite, I was hungry.
The curry. The curry was atrocious. The chicken was undercooked and it was bland as bread soup. I sat back and thought about my actions earlier. Not tipping the delivery man, shutting the door in his face. The poor fellow risked his life driving through a blizzard to get me my food and I treated him like a dog in the street. I'd been a dickhead.
And then I realised my problem.
Bad korma.
(Sorry.)
I had a hot shower and reassessed my evening. My fridge was a desperate sight. My block of cheese was moldy and the onions were starting to grow smaller baby onions. The only glimmer of hope in the fridge was the a solitary bottle of Grolsch at the bottom. I popped the cap and went looking for takeaway menus. Chinese. I wanted Chinese. I made my decision and made the phone call.
No deal. The snow was too bad, they weren't delivering that night. My tummy rumbled. Arse.
Pizza, so. I phoned a nearby pizzeria, only five minutes down the road. Again, not delivering. In fact, they were closing early due to the snow. This wasn't looking good. If I went much longer without food I could probably have phoned Oxfam.
Looking outside, the snow was getting heavier and heavier, I could barely make out the buildings on the other side of the street. "It's this or I eat the cheese", I thought, and I phoned a nearby Indian. I convinced them to send out a man with a curry, turned on the telly and put on an episode of Futurama.
Forty minutes later, and I was still hungry. I'd two episodes watched by now, and I was about to put on another. This man with the curry was taking his time. The third episode ended just as the buzzer went. Angry at how long I had to wait, I paid him exactly what I owed him and shut the door in his face. No time to be polite, I was hungry.
The curry. The curry was atrocious. The chicken was undercooked and it was bland as bread soup. I sat back and thought about my actions earlier. Not tipping the delivery man, shutting the door in his face. The poor fellow risked his life driving through a blizzard to get me my food and I treated him like a dog in the street. I'd been a dickhead.
And then I realised my problem.
Bad korma.
(Sorry.)
