Most food joints on our campus use a number system. You make your order at the register and they give you a number. When they call your number, you come and get your food. Simple. Easy. Tasty. (Well actually that last one depends on what you ordered.)
Oftentimes, while I’m waiting (impatiently) for my number to be called, I witness the confusion and frustration of the number-calling cooks when no one comes to claim their fresh cooked tasty delicious treat. They call the number three or four times in Arabic, then English. Then they shrug and give up.
I usually wonder what happened to the people who ordered that unclaimed snack. Were they kidnapped by mercenaries? Are they, even now, being interrogated about state secrets, the password to their bank account, or even why they ordered three foul (a brown bean) sandwiches for breakfast. Or perhaps ninjas. Or maybe the floor monster got them. (If you don’t know what the floor monster is, your life is in danger and you should probably ask me so I’ll make a blog about it.)
But today I found the real reason that those tasty munchies are not claimed. And it was more amazing than I had ever imagined.
It had been five minutes since they had given up on order #134. And then, from nowhere, a man marched to the counter. He had sunglasses, disgruntled hair, and a long stride. Everything from his expression to his shoes, said one thing: “I do not come when called. I come when I get hungry.” Indeed, he was order #134. And he was not ashamed.
Someday, I want to be that awesome guy. (But for now, I like food too much to wait.)