* make us famous

So I’d tapped out my usual places to eat (Branditos, Quicky’s, Mardi Gras Zone) and was ready for a new and exciting culinary experience, or at least someplace I hadn’t eaten at in a while. There’s always Hanks on St. Claude, but it tastes like shit. If you squeeze their chicken in your fist, grease will run out onto their unmopped floor for a full minute. And it still won’t be cooked to the middle. Greasy raw chicken. Yum.

Fate intervened. Renowned food critic Michael Weber suggested McDonald’s. “What? McDonald’s?” I said. “Yeah man. Two bucks. Tastes okay.” While not exactly a rave review, Mac’s did had the advantage of being three blocks away. Plus I wasn’t in the mood to argue or be hungry, so I rode my bike there, ate a salad, had nothing to complain about, and left.

In the parking lot lay a dollar bill. I picked it up, tossed it into the bicycle basket, and left. Later I passed a bar and stopped outside to say hi to what’s-his-name, when a red-headed dude rolled up in his beat-up pickup truck full of debris and began pulling stuff out. “Hey y’all, I’m a picker,” he said. 

Yeah right. 

He handed me a bicycle pump and said, “It’s a Schwinn!”. “Where’d ya get it?” I asked. He had a half-assed answer and no receipt.

“Give ya a buck for it,” I said. He snatched my dollar out of the basket and handed me the pump. It didn’t work (duh). He’d tried to get over on me.

 I handed it back to him and said I wanted my buck back. He reached into his pocket for the one, but handed me a ten by mistake. This presented me with a moral dilemma. “Should I give it back?” I asked myself. I’ve been here before. I’ve learned in these situations to ask myself, “If the situation were reversed, would he give it back to me?”

 Yeah right.