"Yo dude, meet me at the McDonald's in Wal*Mart at 3! I got great news!"
That's the message Groff left on my answering machine today. Knowing that he should know better than to expect my patronage of that damn restaurant, I almost didn't follow his directions. Memories of that fateful afternoon when he and I had gotten into a fight blossomed in my brain, and those hurtful words I so carelessly threw at Groff seared my eyes; the image burning so bad I shut them. I'd said, "And you know what else? Big Mac's suck! My mom says that only idiots and losers eat those things, and by the looks of you I'd say she's right! Goddamn it Groff, you're crazy if you think I'll step foot into another McDonald's that doesn't have steak on the menu! And that's that!"
I haven't gone back since, but my curiosity began to get the better of me. Why would he have me meet him there? What was the great news? Then, click, it all came together; McDonald's finally sold steak! Man I got so excited thinking about that juicy sirloin, gravy running down my face, my hands full of mashed potatoes, that I ran toward the living room wall full speed. My intentions were to kick off and do a backflip, like I'd seen in a Jackie Chan flick, but things didn't go according to plan and now I have to explain to my mom why there's a hole in the wall. (Not to mention my ass is killing me)
That didn't spoil my buzz one bit. I crashed into my room, loaded my pockets with change, grabbed the keys to my super-fast Honda, and off I went to Wal*Mart.
Once there, I found Groff stuffing his face with french fries among a stack of empty cups, just grinning from ear to ear. "I got your message!" I panted, "So they make steaks now, or what?"
This confused him. "Who said anything about steak?" he asked.
"Didn't you say you had great news? I thought maybe you were referring to that argument we had a few years back..."
He stopped chewing. "Just stop right there. I don't even want to think about that."
Now I was confused. "So they still don't make steak?"
"No dude."
THAT spoiled my buzz. I slunk down in the chair opposite him and asked what the hell he'd called me for.
"I need your help" he said, motioning to all the containers of french fries and empty cups, "See these gamepieces? Every one of them is a potential jackpot, which means if we find the winning one we'll be millionaires! But I can't eat it all myself. That's where you come in. All you have to do is eat these french fries and drink whatever soda of your choice, and sooner or later you'll find that winning gamepiece. Or maybe I'll find it. Whatever, it doesn't matter. What matters is that we out eat our competitors."
I didn't know what he meant by "competitors" but as I looked over the tables around us, I realized soon enough. Obesity surrounded us; folks with red containers in one hand, triple pattied burgers in the other, shoving shovelfuls of food into their mouths with the same expression of an exhausted marathon runner gasping for air. Not just single, solitary individuals either, some people were there with girlfriends, boyfriends, families, fat kids and all. That was a lot of competition. I mulled things over. "My whole life" I thought, "people have been bitching to me about how skinny I am. How they should fatten me up. How unnatural it is that I only weigh one hundred and twenty some-odd pounds. Well you know what? Maybe it's time I showed those bastards what I'm made of. Maybe I should finally grow up and accept my responsibility to be fat just like everyone else. From this day forward, I will no longer be a twenty-two year old boy, but a twenty-two year old MAN."
I cracked my knuckles, bent my neck side to side, cracking that as well, and said to Groff, "Let's fuckin do this." We high-fived and he slid two large fries my way along with a soda. We'd find that winning gamepiece if it was the last thing we'd do. The thought of how great our payoff would be consumed my thoughts, that is, until she showed up. And by she I mean a super-fine Soccer Mom in a long white coat down to her knees. Black leather boots stretched up to her calves and where skin should have been I saw only black nylons. As Groff would say, "Finally. Something worth getting a boner over." The only thing that didn't make sense was why she was sitting on Ronald McDonald's lap, curling his hair around one of her fingers.
"Check out that hot little number" I said to Groff, sending his attention in her direction.
"Ooof. Now that's most definitely a piece of trim worth getting a boner over." was his response.
Adding, "but not now. Now we must focus on finding that winning gamepiece. All the trim in the world can come later."
He was so right. I dove back into my pile of fries but it wasn't long before the two litres of soda caught up with my bladder. Remember we were in Wal*Mart, so I had to leave the McDonalds area, take a quick jaunt past the milk coolers, and then turn a corner before I could release all that pressure.
Nothing beats that feeling you get right after taking a good long piss, and that's exactly what I was thinking about when I heard the bathroom door open; but since I was in the stalls, sitting down, I had no idea who it was. Well, lo and behold, who should I see after opening that stall door but none other than Miss Super-Fine Soccer Mom? A bit embarrassed I told her that she'd stepped into the wrong bathroom. She didn't say anything. She just kept her eyes locked on mine, walking toward me in silence. It wasn't until she stood inches away from me that she spoke. Unbutttoning that long coat of hers she said, "Would you mind doing me a.......favor?"
I couldn't imagine, here in the men's bathroom, what kind of favor she'd need so I told her, "That all depends on the favor m'lady."
Her coat was open now, revealing a black satin nightgown, and her hand reached in one of its many inner pockets. She pulled out a container of yogurt, handed it to me, and said, "Be a doll and smear this on your face for momma." That sounded pretty sexy to me so I shrugged my shoulders and said "OK."
Now, I'm not one to kiss and tell (so I won't go into details) but after we made out, groped each other, and she licked all that yogurt off my face we said our goodbyes, and parted ways. The excitement of the whole moment kept me in a daze; evidentally I forgot to rinse off some remaining yogurt which clung to my ear.
Feeling like I already won that million bucks I strutted back to the McDonalds area, ready to finish eating. Something felt odd though, like I was being stared at. Looking over at Ronald McDonald I saw that I WAS being stared at. By him. He approached me with an odd sort of expression on his face. "Is that, is that yogurt on your ear?" he asked.
"Why yes it is. Good thing you caught that, otherwise I would've walked around with yogurt on me, looking like a dumbass" I replied, still in a fantastic mood.
He just shook his head and called me a piece of shit. Then he lunged, tackled, and started attacking me once I'd been pinned down. You cannot imagine how shocked I was at this, especially after having had such an amazing experience just minutes before. Through it all, I couldn't help but think to myself, "any minute now Groff will come running to my aid and show this clown who's boss!"
Well, three groin kicks, five face punches, one 'you keep your hands off my wife you sonofabitch', and two titty twisters later, Wal*Mart security pried him off my beaten body. It was kind of hard to see, what with my eyes swelling and all, but Groff wasn't anywhere to be found. I called out to him but he wasn't there. Finally, after the paramedics came, stitched me up, and gave me an ice pack I limped to my car.
Who did I see sitting on the hood of my Honda? You guessed it. Groff. I started crying, "where the hell were you man? I just got my ass kicked by Ronald McDonald and you didn't back me up! What kind of friend are you?"
"Whoa, whoa , calm down" he said. "There's a reason I didn't jump in. Listen up, right as I saw that red headed freak tackle you I knew what must be done. With all those chumps distracted by you two I was able to calmly walk to the counter and get all these gamepieces!" From his pockets he pulled his hands, both full with little red squares. "You know what this means?" he asked. "This means we're winners!"
I gave him the keys and told him to drive. We didn't speak for the entire ride which, considering the amount of McDonalds' we stopped at, was pretty long. But sitting here, typing this, I realize there's no reason to be mad at Groff.
I mean, we may not have found the jackpot gamepiece but, goddamn, this McFlurry's delicious!