My Morning

There are two park benches facing each other. A gentleman walks past, carrying a large trunk that looks as if designed to carry around large electronic equipment and sits down on the bench to the left. As his face comes into frame it becomes clear that this man is James Earl Jones. He opens the trunk and pulls out a component that looks like a radar terminal, reaches in and pulls out two pizzas, one stacked on top of the other. He puts the radar console back into the trunk and closes it up nimbly with one hand, balancing the pizzas on the other. He takes the pizza on top and hands it to the person (whose face I never see, but who gives off a dad/boss/mentor vibe) sitting on the other bench.

"You two will share this one," he says in a West African accent (the role he is playing is apparently some spy or diplomat or functionary). I am sitting on the bench next to the unseen person.

Suddenly everything shifts to my point of view. I look down at the pizza to see what kind it is. It looks like cheese, but there are bits mixed in with the sauce, peeking out, that look a bit like ground beef. I always hate refusing offers of food because they're not vegetarian, but somehow I know I've been in this situation before...

"Cheese?" I ask James Earl Jones, pointing at the pizza.

"Bean," he answers, matter-of-factly in his generic accent.

Intrigued, I pick up a slice. Despite having been in a strange trunk for who knows how long it is still very hot. I fold it over and prepare to take a careful bite...

I roll over and look at my alarm clock. It's ten minutes before ten! My God I'm going to be late!

I literally jump out of bed, throw on some clothes, go to the bathroom, put on my shoes, go out the door and downstairs, and walk briskly down the street, realizing that I'll be late no matter how fast I walk. I hope I don't get into too much trouble for this!

What was I thinking last night not setting an alarm? I wonder to myself. I'm three blocks down, with something like ten more to go. I go over the events of the previous night... Friday night. Friday? Then this is Saturday, not Sunday. I start at ten on SUNDAY! I turn around and walk home.

"Whatever you do, don't tell your psychiatrist that James Earl Jones tried to feed you bean pizza." --Dianne
- posted by Bob @ 12:38 PM