Watch me eat, why don’tcha?

I’ve had no time to write. I need to make it a point to, though. Work, Tae Kwon Do and BBBS are consuming me. Any spare time I have is allotted for Elise. She works so much though that she’s hardly around. So I really just spend time trying to conquer my one phobia: sitting across from strangers in restaurants.

Elise and I haven’t had time to go to the grocery store in a month or so. I’ve been having to fend for myself during lunch. I can’t really go home because I ride my bicycle to work. It would take my entire lunch hour just to ride home and ride back. That would leave me with no time to eat. “But Josh, why don’t you just bring your lunch with you?” Because 1) We don’t have any food and 2) I can’t think rationally before 8:30 a.m. I get to work and think to myself: “Damn, why didn’t I bring my lunch?”

Around 1 p.m. I forage the surrounding creek and parking lots for berries. I usually end up with a fist full of cigarette butts and broken glass. I need more fiber. Luckily there’s a Subway behind our building. Yesterday I practically had the restaurant to myself. Just in case, I sat myself in the corner booth, facing the window, away from any other tables. Except for one. A lady ordered her lunch and came and sat at the ONLY table that would allow for any sort of eye contact with yours truly. I was facing west, she was facing north. She could have sat in the other bench of her booth, but no, she had to sit facing north, in direct eyesight of the left side of my face.

I could feel her eyes studying my primal eating habits. Before each bite, I sniffed all sides of my 6″ club sandwich. I would rub the garlic roasted bun on my forehead, grunt and take a large bite, making sure to leave sliced bell pepper and shredded lettuce dangling from my chin. The lady stared harder. I couldn’t take it any longer. I stood up in my booth, beat the right side of my chest with my left hand, I howled and chunked my half eaten sandwich at the lady. I hit her square above the left eye. Red wine vinaigrette and sliced banana peppers teetered from her glasses. I threw my Pepsi to the ceiling and ripped the table out from it’s bolted grounding. I left.

That’s what I should have done.

I hate it when people sit where they can watch me eat.

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