Illegal use of a condiment
I seem to have a love/hate relationship with Ketchup. I love it because it is the greatest condiment on the face of the Earth. I put it on everything, be it Grilled Cheese Sandwiches or French Toast. I consume it in mass amounts. I buy it by the 4 Litre Can and I store it in my room, away from the prying chicken fingers and french fries of those I live with. While I enjoy the taste of ketchup more than any other thing that I've ever tasted, I also endure several trials and tribulations due to my "ketchup tooth" (see this particular blog entry for an example of an unhappy ending from an encounter with my beloved kecthup) and no, they don't involve half hour excursions to the john.While Ketchup and I had gotten along quite well as of late, with no damaging stains or anything of the sort to speak of, our burgeoning friendship took a step back last week. As is the case with any disagreement that Ketchup and I have, I was once again the victim. I was out at Centerpoint Mall, buying new goaltending pads for the Tyndale Intramural Ball Hockey League, just minding my own business, when I decided that I would have lunch in the food court. I decided on McDonald's, which I'll probably pay for later, but it tastes good going down!
After paying for my purchase, I noticed that this McDonald's, unlike most, did not have a ketchup pump. I had just super sized my fries, and I refuse to eat fries without ketchup. It's just not right. Many of you are probably wondering aloud, "Why not ask the nicely groomed, well educated McDonald's cashier for some packets of Ketchup? Then you would have some ketchup and then this story would have a happy ending..." I don't know about you, but when presented with the choice between using a ketchup pump and using ketchup packets, I always choose the pump. I despise Ketchup Packets with a passion. They are messy, time consuming, and taste terrible, not to mention the fact that I never get as much ketchup as I want.
However, all was not lost as I could see a ketchup pump in my "periph" (for those who aren't versed in the comedic stylings of Dane Cook, 'periph' = peripheral). Yes, New York Fries, 3 booths down, had their own ketchup pump. With this knowledge, I found myself a table and put my coat and food there. I then stealthily made my way over to New York Fries to mine myself some red gold. I filled up 3 dixie cups with said condiment and as I was preparing to make my way back to my seat, I was confronted by the esteemed manager of New York Fries. The conversation went a little something like this:
Manager: Eexcuse me sir, but did you purchase some french fries from us?"
Me (not knowing that he meant in the immediate past): "Absolutely sir."
Manager: "I don't remember serving you, are you sure that you bought fries from us?"
Me: "Yep."
Manager: "I don't think you did, I'm going to have to ask you to give me that ketchup."
Me: "I don't think that's going to happen."
And then I turned and walked away.
I got back to my seat and began to consume my meal when I noticed the manager of New York Fries on the telephone behind the counter of his high class establishment, but thought nothing of it until I was approached by mall security. They informed me that I was to leave the mall and that they would escort me out. So there I went, food piled back into my McDonald's bag, dragging two enormous sets of goalie pads behind me.
So, dear New York Fries Manager, while you may think you scored a moral victory by having me escorted from your low-budget flea market of a mall, I still kept your ketchup... bastard.
posted by Chesterfield McFisticuffs III @ 12:05 a.m.
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