|
Day 3: They said it would be 45 minutes, but that's what they've been saying since the beginning. Frank ate his own shoelaces this morning. "Frank," I said, "Let's give up. This isn't worth it." He looked at me, third of a shoelace hanging out of his mouth and said, "They have over 250 menu items and 50 signature cheesecakes. And with the new CakePay app, we won't even have to wait for the check." Then he slurped the rest of the shoelace. The rest of us looked at each other with wild, hungry eyes. Why did we ever think it was a good idea to make Frank the Captain of Cheesecakes? We thought it was good that he was so passionate. Little did we know that his passion was more than that; it was an obsession. We're going to die in the lobby of the Cheesecake Factory. |
|
#
¿
Jul 1, 2016 03:37
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ May 14, 2024 10:33 |
|
|
Day 8: Woke up from a nightmare. In my dream, I died. But that was the good part. I felt myself ascend from my body, infused with a trembling lightness, like the air after a thunderstorm has moved on and the pressure lifts. I was headed up, not down, so I knew I had been a good girl. I kept the CheeseFaith. Up I went, through wreaths of cloud until I reached the angels. They were milling about, standing in groups, sitting with their heads in their hands, checking their phones. States of paralysis and despair. Some of them clutched objects close to their bodies, like holy relics. I knew what those objects were. I didn't want to know what those objects were. Still I floated, pulled by a helium string, past the angels, straight to the podium of St. Peter. But it wasn't St. Peter. It was a hostess. Behind her I could see the familiar faux-Arabian interior I know so well. She told me it would only be 45 minutes. Dear Diary, the angels were clutching buzzers. misty mountaintop fucked around with this message at 15:56 on Jul 1, 2016 |
|
|
#
¿
Jul 1, 2016 14:45
|
|