Tuesday's Daydreams

I'll tell you now that these are dealing with current events.

And before some random person reads this and thinks too much, I would NEVER EVER do anything of this sort. You are warned, those who would judge me.

Handing my plate to the folks at the bar, I ask for a fajita and a chicken Cosmo, the norm. After adding on the fixings that go along with such food. Sitting down with the papers, like every other lunch, I start watching TV. Suddenly a bunch of yelling erupts. Turning to see what's up, the gunfire starts. Some guy's yelling, "You're all to blame," "You made me do this," and all manner of other rude things. I mean, here I am having a nice lunch, albeit the same lunch I usually have, and in comes this unruly troglodyte ruining everything. Anyway, he's facing the dessert bar making a mess of the cakes and, honestly a pile of people that were just trying to eat pizza. I look at some other random, nondescript jock of a college student and we nod at each other and very quietly stand up and get near him. "NOW!" I yell and we charge, tackle and restrain him, before he can waste any more of our time.

"And Alex Rodriguez hit another amazing bomb to left field, sealing the deal for the Yankees."

I look up from my fajita to notice that no one's rudely ruining lunch for me. Man, I really need to get my head checked. Chomp, chomp I go on my Cosmo, just to hear the same sort of rant from the same sort of man in my weird twisted fantasy. This is getting ridiculous. I stuff some more food in my mouth to stop myself from laughing, look up, then notice that this time it's not that dude from before. It's some crazy, and kinda cute, chick yelling about how if she can't have some dude, no one's gonna have him. And she looks like she's aiming for making sure no one has any food either. I tell you, people are really rude in my daydreams. I look around for that big dumb jock and I can't find him. Thinking nothing of it I try recruiting others. No luck there. I guess being a hero really is a solitary job. Quietly stalking up near enough to dash at her, she turns, and with those devil horns and blazing eyes, stares me down and I try looking like I wasn't there. Nothing doing, I see her squeeze the trigger and things start to go slowly. I almost see the bullet leave the chamber of the rifle and BAM --

Someone's dropped a chair. "Tigers aren't doing that bad this year, Chuck," and I look up again. Jeesh, it's getting no better.

And to top it off, I finished my fajitas and sandwiches while I was getting slowly murdered by the devil equivalent of Carla from Scrubs --- I did just have a sex dream about her, I really should stop watching so much Scrubs. Screwing my lunch and whatever it is, I get ready to go, only to notice now I'm wearing a cliché trench coat and for some reason, an AK-47 is under my coat. Now that just isn't right, I wasn't even wearing a coat when I came in, it was like 60 out. Blinking now I'm the one who's ruining the dessert bar and aerating the pour folks just trying to enjoy their day. Huh, that's odd. Only this time, I remember quasi-me sitting in the corner, and mow them down too. This is easier than I made those simpletons make it look. Wait a second, they're not falling down, they're just cursing me and running for cover. Looking down, I notice that the AK isn't an AK anymore and now is a paint-ball gun. I back up and bump over the glass stand.

"Looks like the Pistons are golden for the playoffs," and someone's dropped a glass. Wow, I'm loosing it. Chuckling to myself and ignoring the glares of the others, I walk out, putting my tray on the conveyor belt and enjoy the creepy qualities of my mind.