Four Pieces

By Astor Turtlepaste

One.

Conrad waited in line. He had peered at the neon red on black signs depicting the meal choices for the day and settled on buying the four piece chicken and fries, the only thing he had time for that would be warm. His stomach growled. He had been in class for two straight hours after waking up in time to not have breakfast or brush his teeth. That made it, like, ten hours since he’d last eaten. He wondered how the African children managed it. He wasn’t what would pass for educated on that sort of thing. He was still slightly chilled despite the ugly purple-dyed Engineering jacket which he and many of his contemporaries regarded as the most beautiful thing they owned. There was a snowstorm brewing and the Kingston wind was appallingly face freezing.

Conrad examined the more conservative but still not particularly attractive Commerce jacket on the shorter, Asian individual in front of him. He eyed his watch, he had five minutes to get his food and head to his tutorial. “Man do I need that four piece,” he thought to himself. He checked on the peons working behind the counter, making sure they weren’t slacking over their deep-fryers, stove tops and production areas. It was at this moment he managed to overhear the phrase that sunk his heart from its cavity in the chest to just behind his belly button.

“Shit, buddy, I forgot to add another batch of the chicken strips, wanna get that?”

Conrad hurriedly counted the people in line in front of him. He stood on his tiptoes, counting only twelve chicken strips in the basin. There were three people in front of him in line. If they all ordered chicken strips, he would have to wait another five minutes, or worse yet, be forced get a wrap instead! He watched with dismay as skinny kid wearing a jacket —that looked like an Arts and Science jacket but turned out to be an imitation bomber jacket— was handed one of the three potential four piece chicken meals. He didn’t even seem to be in a hurry, ponderously taking his meal around the string of people in line to the coke machine, stalling as he decided which drink he wanted.

At that moment Conrad hated this stranger who had the audacity to dilly dally in a key get your food and get the fuck to your next class time period. The kid was probably in Arts. He probably didn’t have classes to go to and if he did it was an hour of maybe fifteen per week, while he, Conrad had to suffer through thirty-four hours of class, most of which he absolutely had to go to. That other kid probably didn’t even go to half his classes. Conrad hated that strangers prospective schedule. He hated his nearly neat but slightly messy black hair. He hated his borderline hipster ray ban prescription glasses, and his not-quite-an-ArtSci-jacket, jacket. The rat bastard.

He returned his attention to the orders being taken in front of him. Only eight chicken tenders remained. The girl who was first in line ordered. A four piece. Conrad cursed inside. Only one remained. His gut was stretched taut as he prayed that the two loathsome strangers would, for the love of a God he held no particular belief in, order a cheeseburger or something! The girl who was second in line ordered. A poutine. A wave of relief swept over him, but it was too early to celebrate. Sweat started to bead on his lower back. He found himself clenching his fists. His focus was more clear than it had ever been in any class he had been to. The Commerce student in front of him stepped forward. The order-taker guy looked up at him. Asked the question.

“Four piece with sweet and sour sauce please.”

Dismay consumed Conrad. It was as if his very soul had departed, and for all he cared he could have walked down to the frozen shoreline of Lake Ontario and walked across it until the ice collapsed and he died a horrible death. This damn Asian Commie had taken the last order of chicken strips and nothing further could have embodied, in this student, the enemy (implying that Conrad might have also been a little bit racist). Conrad stared ineffective daggers into his back as he sauntered off to get a drink.

“What can I get you, bud?” Asked the drone at the counter.

Conrad just stared blankly at him. All that he loved in the world had been destroyed, and by a Commerce student, no less. Suddenly, a mad idea popped into his head. A brilliant, wonderful, awful idea.

“Just fries please.”

“Sure thing, dude.”

The pleasant looking young man at the counter scribbled two f ‘s onto the standard issue takeout box that contained each and every meal given out to customers. The meals appeared on the counter. The poutine, snatched up quickly by the girl who had apparently had plenty of those before. The fries, hastily plopped down as the menials struggled to deal with a lunch rush. The four piece with fries, unattended, vulnerable. Conrad hastily checked to see that the Asian kid was still preoccupied with his drink selection and flipped open both lids transferring the four beautifully golden brown pieces of chicken into his takeout box, quickly closing the lid and glancing around to see if he had been noticed. The entire line stood gaping at him, beyond horrified by such a malevolent deed. He shifted his eyes back and forth quickly as his face turned red and then he dashed to the unsuspecting cash, which, the rarest of fortunes, was not busy! He knew himself deep down to be a person of the worst kind, like people who made long distance calls on their friends’ phones in movie theaters during quiet scenes where a dog that had recently saved a life was gasping a final breath.

He quickly paid for his meal with a swipe of his student card, glanced back at the line of flabbergasted people who had turned to stare at him committing such a bold and heinous crime. He walked towards the exit nearest to his class, which turned to a jog, then a run. His pilfered goods in hand, he dashed out into the snow wondering whether the divine beauty and crunchy chewiness of those four chicken tenders could make up the fractured glass of his soul.

Two.

While he waited in line, Tim liked to play a game, especially when he could do so with his friend, Maia. The game involved picking a total stranger and making them the God of something or other. A tall boy in a blue sweater became the God of sweat, a girl in yoga pants became the God of bubble butts. Other strangers became Gods of more arbitrary things. A guy in grey cordouroy pants became the God of cheap beer, a girl in a Canada Goose jacket became the God of conformity. They whispered these to each other and giggled.

Maia leaned on Tim. “You’re the God of slow eating,” she said, smiling.

“You’re the Goddess of never sharing gum,” he quipped back at her.

“Well, now I can definitely never share gum,” she started, “besides, it’s because I don’t buy packs just those bulk ones which you can’t exactly take with you everywhere.”

“That’s what they all say,” said Tim.

The bright smiling young man with the scruff who served them their four piece chicken and fries became the God of secret small pranks that he never told anybody about unless he became legitimately concerned that his co-workers were starting to question their sanity. And it was otherwise a normal day because not everything to do with ordering a specific meal at Lazy ends up being a good story.

Three.

Wowee, but Kyle was the drunkest kid around that Wednesday evening. He was drunk because he was a free man, on Valentines day. That meant he could totally get laid super easily, because he was one reasonably attractive son of a bitch. To clear things up here, his girlfriend, of 8 months had chosen today to give him a call after her classes and let him know they were finished. She had been asked by Kyle Saunders to be her Valentines, and would he please understand that things had been going downhill lately (he hadn’t been especially or even partially aware of it), and that it was inevitable given their situation and he really ought to be seeing people in University, and it’d probably be best for both of them anyways. Also, thanks for the Valentines day card it was sweet, and she hadn’t sent him one because she knew about this a week ago and hadn’t wanted to tell him because it seemed to be an awful thing to do but today she had kissed Kyle and couldn’t in good conscious not make their break up official.

So Kyle wasn’t too stoked about that and didn’t take it too well and after drunk dialing her at 9 pm (and would he please, please, please, never do that again, Kyle gets jealous easily) he had decided that the only things that could complete him were some saucy wenches and some fast food.

When the saucy wenches part failed to fall out of the sky into his lap he did what any sad drunk kid, betrayed and abandoned by his girlfriend who he had totally loved in the purest way possible, would do. He cried a bit then choked the chicken to pictures of her which about sums up the sexual side of their relationship. He then washed his hands thoroughly, wondering whether it was immoral to have done that and if it had been immoral when they were together. Lacking the necessary nudies to post online (and thus averting coincidental child pornography) he instead opted to change his facebook status to single and commented on it saying “bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks,” (And seriously, Kyle please grow the fuck up and delete that shit, it looks really bad for both of us).

Feeling like he ought to be moving around with all of his drunken energy he traipsed off in search of nubile girls (nubile, here, means sexually mature and attractive and preferably but still optionally young). His search led him through the halls down to Lazy, where he frolicked among the many wonderful females who attended Queen’s University (frolicked, here, is incorrectly used to mean dodged between them while less than subtly looking them up and down). He kept trying to strike up conversations with girls who were too polite to tell him to piss off and not tolerant enough to allow him to join them. They opted instead to hint rather strongly that his presence was not at all the radiant glory to be basked in by all, which he seemed to assume. It was especially awkward for both parties when he mistook a lone boy with long hair for a girl. He propositioned his perceived prey in a rather gauche manner and when he realized his error he stammered an apology and sidled off.

Finally, he found his intrusiveness to have had enough of an effect to overcome the massive barrier of his intoxication and he realized that, really, nobody was interested in a sexy, recently single, nice dude on Valentine’s day. So feeling alone and unfulfilled, he slumped over to the line. In front of him in line was a guy with long hair but it was still obviously a guy and Kyle’s propositioning was done for now anyways. The gentleman at the counter took his order (a four piece) and then Kyle’s (also a four piece).

Upon completion of this order, Kyle grabbed his fried chicken and deep fried fries in their container and turned to see that the guy was still standing there. His eyes here half closed and a bit bloodshot and the guy said “Mannn, I am soooo baked right now. I think they gave me extra chicken because they know, mann.”

“That is fucking awesome!” Kyle declared.

“Righttt?” said the stoned guy. ‘My name’s “Jeff.”

“I’m Kyle… Why are you super baked right now?”

Jeff laughed, but more that kind of quick exhalation of air through the nostrils than an actual laugh, the kind of thing most people do before they type lol for in online or text conversations.

“I just finished a test dude. Wanna chill? I got more ganja back in my room.” Jeff kept slightly nodding his head while he spoke and Kyle, being out of options was more than happy to accept.

They totally prank called Kyle’s ex.

Four.

Anna checked her phone. Four missed calls and three texts. All of them from Steph. She hurriedly texted that she had felt sick and was cabbing back to residence. It was mostly true, but other than her annoying emotions she felt fine.

She thought back on the events of that night. She’d had high hopes, despite her initial misgivings. She thought of Mark, how he had seemed charming, glib, and yet sincere. He whispered in her ear, smiled at her, held eye contact just long enough to be suggestive. They had walked with their mutual friends to Alehouse, where a Valentine’s day event was going on. She had felt a little silly and daring doing it but she’d had a few drinks and she was okay with that. She didn’t think that anyone had noticed but that wouldn’t make the explanations in the next days any easier. She had just unobtrusively slipped her hand into his and they had walked like that to the club. She had liked that image, their fingers interlaced, ebony and ivory, like a piano.

In line he had been playful and sweet, they had huddled together for warmth. There was that one moment where he had made a joke about slaves, somewhere in a conversation about rum, that she had found in bad taste and frowned at him. He didn’t seem to notice her displeasure and she let it slide. She didn’t want to be a buzzkill. Before long they reached the front of the line and headed in, their fake ID’s had been successful. They had danced in that wild crowd, feeling the contours of each others bodies, looking in each others’ eyes and smiling.

They must have danced for a solid 15 minutes and Anna had realized that she needed to use the restroom. She told him so and went with a friend into the line. It was somewhat of an ordeal waiting in line, wanting to be on the floor with him. Steph had asked her about Mark. Anna had replied that it was just dancing, they weren’t having sex or anything. No need to become the centre of attention over the next few days.

Finally, they had left the washroom and struggled through their crowd towards their friends, towards Mark. They pushed through the last people in their way and saw him, making out with Elena. Steph had quickly glanced over at her, she’d probably seen the hurt, wide-eyed look on her face. She had recovered her composure quickly, danced for a short while with her friends, then made some excuse about wanting to check her phone which was in her coat. It was a fairly transparent lie, much like the text she had sent Steph. She just didn’t feel like she had it in her to tell them the truth right now. To tell them that she had suppressed her feelings for Mark for the last few weeks, not trusting them to come to fruition. She would never tell them that she had allowed herself hope, after all it had been Valentine’s day and he had seemed sincere.

That was the worst part about the whole thing. The thought of having to tell Steph and Elena, how Elena would apologize and feel guilty and Anna would have nothing really to say. Elena would probably apologize so much that Anna would feel bad for having told her anything at all. Elena couldn’t bear to have people upset with her.

In the short walk between the cab and Victoria Hall, she was assailed by the wind and snow. The weather had seemed so nice on the way out, now it was atrocious. What a miserable day this had turned out to be. Technically speaking, it was no longer Valentines day; the time was 12:25. All the same, she felt that perhaps a bite to eat would help her despondent mood.

She walked through the doors a few paces behind a taller guy, heading towards the grill. Her heart fell a little more as she saw the staff already cleaning up. She hoped yet that they would have something for her to eat, if not a burger then maybe a four piece. He walked over to the counter and in a friendly voice asked the lady cleaning up, “hey there, am I too late?”

The lady smiled at him and said, “I have enough for one four piece and fries, hun.”

Anna stopped and turned around. It seemed nothing would go right for her today.

“Hey, excuse me,” said the boy. Anna turned back. He had a warm smile and gentle eyes. “You have it, I’m not that hungry.”

“Oh no, I really couldn’t,” Anna found herself saying.

“I insist,” he replied. She paused. His face was kind, youthful and handsome. His offer took her off guard.

“We could share it,” she said finally.

“I could do that.” he said.

They sat in the lounge section on the comfy couch. Nibbling fries and chicken talking about everything and nothing. There was a spark and an easy conversation that came to them and Anna couldn’t believe how effortlessly they connected. When the staff finally kicked them out they went to his room and he made hot chocolate. He only had one packet, that had been a sample so they shared a mug, passing it back and forth finding their eyes locking more and more, and conversation happening less and less. She put the half full mug on the night table. Smiled at him, looking into his eyes. He kissed her. They pulled apart, still holding each other’s gaze. Another kiss. And while she never thought of it that night, she would be more than happy to tell Steph and Elena about this.

Five.

What truly exceeds

The fifth little chicken strip

You did not expect?