I am diligently pecking away at my laptop when a musical horn sounds off alerting anyone in a two block vicinity that the roach coach is making its approach. But I don't need to hear it coming - my window is closed up tight, yet I can smell it coming a mile away. The truck races through the parking lot. I look up and can almost see a cloud trail of grease following - racing - trying to catch up with the truck.
The truck rounds the corner and stops just beyond the front door to our lobby. The grease cloud slows down as well and re-envelopes the truck. Most days I successfully resist the urge to buy something from (I am ashamed to say) a menu I am all too familiar with. I've successfully avoided the grilled cheese(???!) sandwich, but I have indulged in the buffalo wings, beef tacos, sausage and egg sandwich. All are immensely improved by the addition of Vietnamese hot sauce. Amazing how something can be satisfying and gross at the same time. But there it is.
It is Friday and the urge is strong. I walk out of my office and into the main lobby, checking my pockets which contain $2.30 in change. Excellent - this limits what crap I can put into my body. I open the front door to test the air - the smell of grease is strong throughout the parking lot. The odor is almost enough to keep me from going outside, but not quite. I walk to the truck and look at the delectable culinary offerings it has to offer. Same-o same-o. I am about to walk away and proudly claim that I dodged the greasy bullet for another week ... when ... wait ... I see a bag of Cheetos Crunchy ... with my name on it.
Damn. I've fallen off the wagon - again. No use in cryin' about it. I finish my bag of Cheetos, lick orange dust from my fingers. Yummmm. I have the weekend to recover from ingesting junk food. It's okay. Come Monday, I'll smile and start over.
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