PLANNING INCIDENTAL CANNIBALISM

Through no fault of the organizers of today's lunch, a well-known restaurant chain managed to get the order for two dozen people wrong.
They did not deliver food for half of the people here.
We're isolated in the middle of miles upon miles of industrial park, starving, and low on blood sugar. Suffering from existential hunger. As well as attitude issues.
Likely to get either violent or despondent.


Hayward.


Personally, I'm blaming Hayward, a place I already characterized as the armpit of hell in previous posts about the fen bog pit toxic waste dump compost heap to which our office has moved.


Hayward.


Checklist:
1. CUISINE: reliable taco trucks. Hardly anything else worth eating. Every place staffed by bright suburban teenagers is flaky and badly managed. On the plus side, none of us have had food poisoning yet. Or perhaps we did, and just didn't know it. You know, a-symptomatic. But I'm sure it's just a matter of time.
2. TRANSIT: served by Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART), Greyhound, and Alameda-Contra Costa buslines (AC Transit), the only reliable mode of conveyance is the morning bus that goes past the courthouse. Probably in lieu of the paddy wagon from the county lockup, which has probably been scrapped from the city's budget. There have been a number of times when I had to wait more than an hour for a bus back to the train station in the evening, because what the printed schedule said was hopeful, rather than realistic. There are no taxis that drive past the industrial wasteland on the off-chance of opportunity, by the way.
3. CLIMATE: Bay Area Suburban. That means people wearing clothes that their mothers would've warned them against. If their mothers were paying any attention. Just too many problems, however, what with suburban teenagers who cannot figure out complex orders (more than two items, faxed or e-mailed), busses that never show up, offenders wandering the streets, taco trucks fleeing from industrial wastelands, rampant food poisoning, a-symptomatic dogs, ponies, seagulls, and assorted zombies.
It rains just as much here as elsewhere.


Hayward.

A good start toward civilization in this place would be if the local teenagers pulled up their pants so that the crotches of their baggy jeans weren't down around their knees. Their boxer shorts aren't handsome enough to merit exhibitionism (with one or two notable exceptions - kudos, gentlemen, on your stylish choices and polished rumps), and for those who are wearing briefs, the idea should be right out.


Hayward. It's a real slice.


One of our staff members is driving toward the food place that got the order wrong as we speak.
He's got a hatchet.
If we don't get the food, he's promised to bring back the offending teenager.
Perhaps we will feast on juicy dunce today.
Who knows.



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