Wednesday, January 4, 2012

What January 4th Means To Me: Potatoes

Here's a quiz.  For a brief moment on Monday night, what did me and the below have in common?

Oh, to be Irish in the mid 1800's

Answer?  Everything.

Ever have one of those weekends where it just seems like nothing goes right?  Everything from the serious (like health, career, love life) to the not-so-serious, like choosing the wrong exit lane in a pay parking garage, and getting stuck behind a guy who tries to pay his ticket with an argument?   That was last weekend for me.  Just one enema of a weekend.  But even though I was prepared to just punt the sadness and lick my wounds, I decided to put all my energy and hopes into one thing (I am a gambler, after all).  There was one simple idea that would make it all better and catapult me into a week of awesome:

Oh yes, potatoes.   But not just any potatoes, those wonderful potatoes from the California Chicken Cafe.  I'm not sure what they put in them (oil, garlic, and magic?), but I love them.  In fact, they are the only reason I even go to that restaurant.  And my body agrees.  In fact, just the thought of them?

Actual footage of my taste buds upon the thought of the potatoes

Sure, I also buy a some bullshit wrap and a side of fruit, but that's just for show and the sake of balance. I really just want the potatoes. And each time I eat that meal, I ration the potatoes so it's my last bite.  I make sure to eat half the wrap and some of the fruit before I even dig in to the potatoes, just so I can stare them down, make my mouth water, and deprive myself as if that will somehow make them taste better.  Like I earned their love. 

Early last Monday, towards the end of the aforementioned shitty weekend, I decided to make a last stand. If circumstances, bad luck, and BS had prevailed for most of the weekend, I'd fight back. I decided that, not only would I get the potatoes that night, I would do something bold.  Something I'd never done before.  I'd get the bigger size. Yeah, that's right.  I'd eat more potatoes than I previously ever had. And it was all I could think about all day.  In fact, I went to lunch with my friend R and just stared at my food with pity. And though I knew R was telling me about her Christmas vacation, all I could hear was..

Anyway, finally, after putzing around for a few hours, the moment had come: potato time. I high tailed it to the cafe, walked up to the counter where the girl immediately started inputting my order (I'm beyond predictable), but I said "you know what, lets get the bigger size of potatoes today."  She gave me a daring look (no she didn't), and a few minutes later, I held a bag with my wrap, fruit, and, most importantly, a large container of potatoes. 

And that's when things got weird.

After about 7/8th's of my walk home, I was visited by a ghost.  The ghost of the great Harry Houdini. And, feeling this presence, I glanced at my bag only to notice that something was just a bit off.  I inspected the clear plastic bag. Wrap? Check. Fruit? Check. Fork and napkins? Check.  Potatoes?  Where the FUCK were the potatoes. Now, when I left the restaurant, I knew they were in the bag, hell, how could I miss them, I got the bigger size, remember?  You know that brief moment of surprise, where your mind doesn't quite grasp reality, and you think ever so irrationally?  That was me in that moment.  My thought wasn't "hmm, did I forget the potatoes?" it was "where are the potatoes hiding?"  I searched every nook and cranny of the bag, as if the potatoes shrunk themselves to the size of a pea and were hiding somewhere between two slices of honeydew.  And it was during that search that I saw it.  The hole in the side of the bag...


Which quickly became...

Fuck it all.

If the fruit had fallen out, I would have shrugged.  Had the wrap fallen out, well, I would have been used to that because the restaurant slathers it in mayo 25 percent of the time, rendering it inedible to me.  Why couldn't the fork and napkins have escaped?  I walked back to my apartment completely defeated, and ate my wrap and fruit with contempt, as if their jealousy had pushed the potatoes out of the bag.  Then I showered, curled up in bed with a pillow, and cried. 

Truly, a modern day tragedy. 

Universal, Paramount, Miramax, Fox, Fox Searchlight, Summit...the rights to this story are officially on sale. 

Let the bidding begin. 


  1. Why didn't you just get more potatoes?

  2. eh, the walk back seemed to daunting at the time. Plus, my ankle/foot has been giving me real problems lately, and it was bothering me. I probably should have driven, but the parking lot there is always a shit show.