The Hell If I Wasn’t Getting a Hotdog
So in commemoration of our wonderful school, we were given hotdogs and juice for, you know, “kicks”.
The whole morning I had waited for this event, when I walked on campus I saw a stainless steel grill just yelling out “use me, use me, but just don’t abuse me” and the opening flames were to be prepared right after my first class. As the discussion of parliament, taxes, and football grew to a close, my anticipation of a cheap hotdog could no longer stay inside and I messaged everyone I knew who could possibly take some action for the opportunity. As class was dismissed I rushed out of building C and darted towards… the end of an epic line.
Being at the end of a free-hotdog-line is a peculiar thing. Everyone there is out for a free lunch, what they don’t tell you, is that it’s not free at all. You try and make some sort of conversation with the person in front; all you get is a cold shoulder and a shot at your self-esteem. Then, you try and calm yourself down by telling yourself, “I’ll get my hotdog by my 11:30 class.” But when you realize the stupid bird you had been watching hop around is done with his business on the grass and you are no where within eye shot of the grill, you start to feel a bit, uneasy. As a strange tension starts developing around your stomach, you start to weigh out the consequences.
“The quizzes ARE only worth 1%.”
“Ok, I’m moving 3 people a minute, by the time I get my hotdog AND prepare it, it should give me about 15 seconds to sprint to class, and only be… 5min late”
“mmm…hotdog, but then again, what are you really getting; some terrible remains of what is essentially dog food made for human consumption? Then again, it is FREE.”
“To sprint I SHALL!”
As I settle in a spot within reach of the tables, the “band” starts to set up. Essentially it is two older fellows with a keyboard, sound equipment, their guitars, and the heart of the most rocking rockers EVAR! As I see them set up, I make stupid jokes in my head about how one of them looks mildly retarded. I even laugh out loud. “I mean, just look at his white sneakers, the black pants, and that colorful windbreaker. I mean, COMMON man, have some pride, and take…those…brown, pilot-shades………….off… You do suffer from a mental illness, don’t you?” The guy is literally ill; I am shocked at my own thoughts. When did I turn into a terrible person? To make amends, I put some change in their cup. (Hopefully it wasn’t their juice cup and to be fair, they did mean covers from Bread)
I move past the band, it is my time to shine, oh glorious days. The atmosphere was singing, it was my turn for a hotdog. Due to all of the anticipation of a FREE hotdog, the feelings of reward turned into a reminiscent nervousness familiar to those who have shoplifted. As I grabbed my dog, it was amazing for it to be FREE, FREE as in speech. Tears came to my eyes after the first bite; I was finally free to see the world. Then I ran, ran as fast as a cheetah on the hunt, spilled some juice and ran. I inhaled my hotdog; it was worth it, even after missing the quiz.
But, there was always the sweetness of the Rice Krispy I had in my pocket.
