The Casual Slaughter of a Regular Sleep Schedule
"YOU WANT CORN ON THE COB OR SLAW?"
The Turkish KFC man caught me in the haze of my 2AM rhythm.
"um, corn?"
Wait. A few less hot seconds longer and I connected the wink with the distinct fact that I had not ordered a side or the XL fries or the little packet of mayo Dutch people refer to as "sauce." By the time he'd finished my two-pieces-of-chicken order I was handed the biggest takeaway bag KFC had on hand; with handles. Complimentary wink.
I took my chicken and ran. Nonchalantly.
Although I noticed the wink and the questionable tongue grab if I didn't catch the 2:26 train home I'd be stranded in a city where not all men flirted with extra fry sauce, alone.
What did he expect?
Why do I feel guilty? Why do still feel like I owe him something?
I catch the train and try to eat my chicken as elegantly as someone can whilst tearing apart fried flesh. Lucky it's a night train and almost everybody's already home. Honestly, I wasn't even hungry enough to crave corn on the cob or large fries but 2AM is a strange time for anybody, my stomach included.
I've been trying to put on a few pounds anyway.
Digging into the corn (my god, why the corn?) I thought about the godforsaken retirement I used to work at. Only big black girls and hard-working latinas were strong enough to work there. I loved those ladies. They served the live-in retirees breakfast, lunch, dinner; always an extra side of sass; they needed it.
"WE HATE YOU FOR LEAVING
10k tomorrow. The thought floats through my suspended meditation.
Leaned against the cool glass I relish the irony of the thought. The thought is the only thing which links the girl who runs marathons with the one who just finished eating KFC on the last train home. That, and an unsustainable sleep schedule.
The Turkish KFC man caught me in the haze of my 2AM rhythm.
It took me a hot sec.
"um, corn?"
Wait. A few less hot seconds longer and I connected the wink with the distinct fact that I had not ordered a side or the XL fries or the little packet of mayo Dutch people refer to as "sauce." By the time he'd finished my two-pieces-of-chicken order I was handed the biggest takeaway bag KFC had on hand; with handles. Complimentary wink.
I took my chicken and ran. Nonchalantly.
Although I noticed the wink and the questionable tongue grab if I didn't catch the 2:26 train home I'd be stranded in a city where not all men flirted with extra fry sauce, alone.
What did he expect?
"REMEMBER JESSA, EVEN IF HE BUYS YOU DINNER YOU STILL DO NOT OWE HIM ANYTHING."
Why do I feel guilty? Why do still feel like I owe him something?
I catch the train and try to eat my chicken as elegantly as someone can whilst tearing apart fried flesh. Lucky it's a night train and almost everybody's already home. Honestly, I wasn't even hungry enough to crave corn on the cob or large fries but 2AM is a strange time for anybody, my stomach included.
I've been trying to put on a few pounds anyway.
Digging into the corn (my god, why the corn?) I thought about the godforsaken retirement I used to work at. Only big black girls and hard-working latinas were strong enough to work there. I loved those ladies. They served the live-in retirees breakfast, lunch, dinner; always an extra side of sass; they needed it.
"WE HATE YOU FOR LEAVING
-my going-away card from the residents"
The leader of the CNA's was obviously the biggest, sassiest one. I loved how she looked after the tiny crumpled up old ladies. The smallest one couldn't (or chose not to?) speak. She survived off of silent tea and toast.
Old people are weird: they can survive off of one piece of bread or only 2 hours of sleep. Maybe it's not survival, maybe they're just ready to move on.
"MS. JONES YOU EAT LIKE A BIRD"
The CNA would comment-- extra loud.
I'm convinced that Ms. Jones could only survive because of this strange, opposites-attract relationship. She always smiled waterly at the XL CNA and ate another piece of toast. Some of us little birds just need eXtra women and creepy KFC men to slip us another corn on the cob.
Finished eating I have the last minutes of my train ride for a bit of reflection. It feels like sailing, riding the night train. My favorite moment is when the lights inside the cabin go off and it just looks like you're floating through the highway lights, effortlessly riding. Nothing like it for a temporary nirvana.
10k tomorrow. The thought floats through my suspended meditation.
Leaned against the cool glass I relish the irony of the thought. The thought is the only thing which links the girl who runs marathons with the one who just finished eating KFC on the last train home. That, and an unsustainable sleep schedule.
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