The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Me

I recently accepted a job offer at a new company, so I will be leaving my current place of employment after seven years. I've got one week left to go, and I'm pretty stoked to be leaving. But at the same time, I've worked with my coworkers for a long time, so I thought I would try to go out with some style. Apparently, "go out with some style" in my world means "bring donuts to work." I don't know what it says about me that buying donuts is my version of a classy gesture, but I do know that I love long johns (vanilla).

So I drive an hour away to go to work, and when there's about one mile left to go, I pull into the Dunkin' Donuts drive through. (I'm now wrestling in my mind as to whether it's drive-thru or drive through. I think drive-thru is pretty stupid, but I also think I have seen that on actual drive throughs quite a bit. And I've officially spent too much time thinking about this.)

There's a line of cars in front of me, which is mildly frustrating. Despite my classy gestures and going out with style, I don't have it in me to show up on time for a job I'm leaving in a week. So the long line is going to make me more than the 30 minutes late that I already am. Were I not at Dunkin Donuts, this time in the drive through line would be dedicated to me hating myself while debating how much of a fatass I'm going to be on this trip.

Well, I definitely want two double decker tacos, because those are my favorite. But I'll need a third thing as well... It IS a Taco Bell slash KFC... Don't want the colonel to feel left out. Of course, I am really fat. And though the joy that all this food will bring me will be satisfying, it will probably leave me hating myself and feeling greasy pretty shortly thereafter. Maybe I'll just get a cheesy gordita crunch then. That won't be as bad as three chicken strips. It is less things. One gordita. Three strips.
Of course, my lunch is then going to be a series of not real food... double decker tacos? Cheesy gordita crunch? Fuck it, I'm getting the chicken strips. And three tacos. To balance it out.

At Dunkin Donuts, it's so much easier. I just have to say, "Give me a dozen donuts, mix them up. One extra vanilla long john. And a large coffee: black." End of transaction. Well, I have to pay still. But there's no debate between my fat voice and my self-respect voice.

The car in front of me pulls up, and I get closer to the little black box with the muffled voice. And I see a problem.

You see, this Dunkin Donuts is a Dunkin Donuts slash Baskin Robbins. This has never in my life been a problem for me. But on this day, there is a sign up next to the little black box:

"Small soft serve cone! 99 cents!"

And just like that, my sleepy morning has taken a wild turn.

FAT VOICE
Soft serve ice cream! What a great idea! I haven't had a soft serve ice cream cone since I was a little kid! It would be summertime at Ridgeland Commons, the swimming pool in Oak Park. My siblings and friends would all be there swimming in the summer heat. Even though it was probably only an hour or two, in my mind it always seemed like we were there for a gloriously long day of water games and jumping in. And when the day ended, I would wrap a towel around myself, put on my flip flops and beg my mom to buy me something from the concession stand: a soft serve ice cream cone. I should totally get one now. It's been so long!

SELF-RESPECT VOICE
You. Are. Fat.

FAT VOICE
Yeah, but nostalgia!

SRV
But nothing! But jelly rolls! You've got stretch marks on your love handles, you fat piece of shit!

FAT VOICE
Touche. But, it's 99 cents. It's going to be so small. It'll be just a little taste. Not even 100 calories.

SRV
You sit at a desk all day. You don't burn 100 calories in a day. Because your job requires you to do nothing.

Now at this point, I need to explain a little bit about this job that I'm leaving. It's true. I sit at a desk in a cubicle for 8 hours. I would get more exercise if I were working at a sleep clinic taking naps under observation. At least there I might work up a sweat while engaged in R.E.M. The most I exert myself in a day at the office is when I fart.

Beyond that, my job is such that I am required to make zero decisions. I never have to make a decision at work. I have a series of tasks that I need to accomplish. Each task is dictated by the result of some prior task. At no point is creative thought coming into play. Never do I need to debate the merits of one possibility versus another. My job is actually designed so that I do not need to make any decisions. Critical thought is discouraged.

This is a key piece of background to this story, because as I sit in line at the Dunkin Donuts drive through, I am actually facing the biggest decision I will make all day long. The effect of the decision of whether or not to buy the 99 cent ice cream cone will be felt all day. If I fuck this decision up, I'll have the rest of the day to think about it. At no point will I make another decision that will make up for or make me forget about a poor decision here.

FAT VOICE
But ice cream...

SRV
Look. I'm going to break this down. Fat is energy. Pure and simple. Right now you have massive amounts of energy reserves. And that can be a good thing. If you're going to get stuck in the desert and all you have is water, you'll tap into that energy. In which case, this ice cream cone would be a great idea. You'd be helping to build up your energy stores.

But you're not going to get stuck in the desert. You're going to a cubicle farm where you will sit in front of a computer and play sudoku online when no one's looking. And you're not going to go to the gym today. And you're not going to go for a run. And you don't need any more energy. Because you DON'T. DO. ANYTHING.

FAT VOICE
Okay. You win this round.

And a feeling of pride washes over me. It's weird. I've made the decision.

The car in front of me pulls forward, and I pull up next to the crappy stupid speaker. A muffled voice come out.

"Welcome to Dunkin Donuts, can I take your order?"

"Yes, I'd like a dozen donuts, just mix them up. And can I also get a vanilla long john as well. And a large coffee."

"Cream and sugar?"

"No, just black."

"So it's a dozen donuts, a long john, and a large coffee?"

"Right."

"Will that be all for you today?"

Shit. Will that be all for me today. That's where it all goes wrong, isn't it? When the stupid voice asks if that will be all. Are you sure? Nothing else? It's almost like the voice is implying that you haven't ordered enough.

"Will that be ALL? Really? That's it? We have lots of other things you could also be ordering, you know."

And I don't totally know how to describe it, but I guess I would say I was in a panic. I could literally feel my temperature rising as the fat voice reengaged my self respect. I momentarily forgot how to function, because I was so desperately battling myself in my mind. I wouldn't have been surprised if my ears started bleeding. It was nuts. And almost against my will, a voice rose up from within me and words spilled from my mouth...

"I'll also have the, uh, small soft serve ice cream cone as well, please."

SRV
FAT VOICE! Damn you! It's 9:30 in the morning!

FAT VOICE
I believe I've spoken. What's done is done. And this morning, we shall relive childhood in a tiny wafer-like cone.

The decision has been made, and I fucked it up. And I couldn't even embrace it. I'm sitting in my car waiting to get to the window to pay for my mistakes, and I'm just ashamed of myself. I had one decision to make, and I fucked it up.

So I pull up, after what seems like eternity, and the window opens. And there's some snotty little Northbrook/Deerfield high school kid with a shit-eating grin on his face. And when he opens the window, the first thing he does is look me over. Like he couldn't wait this whole time to see what fat asshole ordered the ice cream cone at 9:30 in the morning.

We exchange money, and he's smiling his acne-scarred smile the whole time. He hands me the box of donuts, then a bag with my long john and my coffee. I set them all on my passenger seat. Then, I shit you not, he puts one finger up in front of him, like he's saying to himself, "Oh yes, one more thing I nearly forgot about," smiling the whole time. He disappears from the window, and when he reappears, he's handing me a little soft serve ice cream cone.

He reaches out the window to hand it to me, and he says, "You're making great decisions on breakfast this morning, sir."

I started to hang my head, as I accepted my shame. But then I ultimately looked back up at him, shrugged, and said, "Yeah, well." And drove away.

I will say that I did enjoy the cone. Even though I hated myself afterwards. But more than I hated myself, I hated that I didn't have a better response to his comment. So as I replay my terrible decision over and over, I also replay that interaction.

He reaches out the window to hand it to me, and he says, "You're making great decisions on breakfast this morning, sir."

I reach out the window, accept the cone, look him dead in the eye, and respond, "I had pancakes for breakfast."

That Charles Darwin Is Full of Shit

I believe in the theory of evolution. Bold statement, I know. But I want to get that out of the way up front. Darwin makes sense to me. I also want to come right out and say that I make no claim of being an evolution expert. So much of what follows may be a complete and total misinterpretation of the theory of evolution, actual facts, and science in general. Having said that, I would really like to sit down and talk natural selection with old Chuck Darwin about flightless birds.

I don’t understand flightless birds. To be clear, I’m not talking about ostriches and penguins here—birds that can’t fly, but remain mobile. I’m talking specifically about worthless, immobile birds. And really not even all worthless, immobile birds. The chicken, for instance, I get. Chicken, you were probably mildly useless, but then were domesticated by humans. You were bred to be more worthless as animals, because we ruined you. But dodos? How could you have gotten so worthless?

Now before you go getting all explainy on me, I understand the evolutionary argument. The story goes like this: Birds that could fly landed on an island. There were no predators on the island. There was a whole lot of food on the island. The flying birds didn’t need to fly. And so they evolved into flightless, worthless pieces of shit.

But that’s crazy, right? Is it just me? In order for that to have happened, every bird, when faced with the choice between sex with an athlete and sex with a fatass, chose the fatass?

So the theory of evolution isn’t so much, “survival of the fittest.” But rather, “survival of the fittest, until survival isn’t a challenge, and then just become the laziest pieces of shit you can be”? Does that about sum it up Darwin?

Because it seems to me that’s the case. The dodo bird could fly, once upon a time. It certainly didn’t swim. And since it existed only on an island, Mauritius, off southeastern Africa, it must have flown to the island, right? Upon getting to the island, 4 million years ago, these flying birds noticed how much awesome food there was. Well, they probably didn’t consciously notice. Regardless, they began gorging themselves.

For 4 million years, the dodo had what I would describe as a food and fuck orgy on the island. They lived like Nero, or as I call him the orgy emperor. All of this I understand. Survival of the fittest doesn’t require you to be a puritan. But there’s still no disincentive to flying, right? I mean, if I could, I would totally fly. That would kick ass. Who wouldn’t choose the ability to fly when presented with that option?

I’ll take it a step further. If I met a woman who could fly, it would be “adios wife”!

“Sorry lady, I want my child to be a superhero. And right now, Flying Francesca is really my best shot at that possibility.”

“Yeah. I get it.” My wife responds understandingly. “If there was a dude who could fly, I’d totally be all about that.”

Flightless birds had that option! But their conversations (in bird language) went totally differently.

“Hey ladies, I know there’s a ton of food all over the ground, but check it out. There’s some apples up in the trees. And I can fly up there and get them.” Flying Frank the Dodo says, beating his chest a little.

Tubby Tommy, King of the Island, puts down an over-ripe apple that fell from the tree long enough to say, “There’s more sugar in the ones that fell already. Those ones up there are bullshit.”

“Yeah, you’re a show off Frank,” says Fat Francine. Then she turns around and gives Tubby Tommy a B.J. (beak job).

“Hey guys, what has two wings and doesn’t use ‘em? This guy!” Tommy says.

All of his friends in the orgy laugh in unison.

“Look at Frank. He’s expending energy unnecessarily!”

“What an asshole!”

The barrage of insults continues until Frank leads all of his flying friends back to Madagascar, where life is slightly more difficult, but where their biological makeup remains fundamentally sound.

Fast forward to the 16th century, when humans show up on Mauritius and within 100 years every single fat, stupid bird is eaten.

Right before getting clubbed to death, Tubby Tommy stares at his assailant and says drily, “Dear God, I have wasted my life.”

That scenario just doesn’t play out in the real world. Look at us. In the United States, no one goes hungry. (Incidentally, that’s kind of cool. We’re pretty fucked up with poverty, racial inequality, homelessness, etc. But you can’t really starve to death here.) There’s food a-plenty, always available at your local grocery store, food repository, or boutique foofy specialty store. And while we have become the fattest pieces of shit in the world, we still make fun of fat people! I have yet to see an 8-year old obese kid pick on somebody for running.

“Don’t you understand! You don’t need to do that!”

When I see that? It’s time to move to Madagascar.