Totally, Totally Busted
Between doing a job search, planning a departmental event, prepping classes, and dealing with not one but TWO student crises this week (more on these later), I left campus at 6:30 this evening. It's a beautiful early spring night out, and if I weren't so hungry that I could chew my own arm off, I would have gone for a walk to give myself a small break before settling in for an evening of grading.
Since I was, in terms of hunger, the human equivalent of a swarm of locusts, I decided to order food delivered. In Urbania, there is a very small number of restaurants that will bring food to your domicile; basically, the choices are the old standards: pizza or Chinese. Because we live close a big University (not Ascesis U., you understand, just our big brother up the road), we also can add the college dive restaurants to our list of delivery options. I took out my sheaf of menus, and decided to order myself up a brown meal--things covered in batter and then submerged in boiling oil, along with a salad to prevent my arteries from clogging on contact.
So I called up Local Dive Joint. The conversation went like this:
"Hello, Local Dive Joint, how can I help you?"
"I'd like to place an order for delivery."
"Is this Kulturfluff? This is Student X (leader of campus do-gooders)."
Holy CRAP!! I hate this caller ID business!! So there I am, with my list of deep fried goodness and token green item, talking to the student who, in all probability, is a vegan. Who only eats organic food. Farmed by unionized workers. On feminist collectives. In developing nations.
In other words: Busted.
I had no choice; I placed my order, made a few jokes about it. She was very understanding. The final notable point here is that when it came time to give her a delivery address, she asked me what my office address was. Does that mean she thinks I live there, or that I would only order from Local Dive Joint if I had to stay at school for dinner?
Since I was, in terms of hunger, the human equivalent of a swarm of locusts, I decided to order food delivered. In Urbania, there is a very small number of restaurants that will bring food to your domicile; basically, the choices are the old standards: pizza or Chinese. Because we live close a big University (not Ascesis U., you understand, just our big brother up the road), we also can add the college dive restaurants to our list of delivery options. I took out my sheaf of menus, and decided to order myself up a brown meal--things covered in batter and then submerged in boiling oil, along with a salad to prevent my arteries from clogging on contact.
So I called up Local Dive Joint. The conversation went like this:
"Hello, Local Dive Joint, how can I help you?"
"I'd like to place an order for delivery."
"Is this Kulturfluff? This is Student X (leader of campus do-gooders)."
Holy CRAP!! I hate this caller ID business!! So there I am, with my list of deep fried goodness and token green item, talking to the student who, in all probability, is a vegan. Who only eats organic food. Farmed by unionized workers. On feminist collectives. In developing nations.
In other words: Busted.
I had no choice; I placed my order, made a few jokes about it. She was very understanding. The final notable point here is that when it came time to give her a delivery address, she asked me what my office address was. Does that mean she thinks I live there, or that I would only order from Local Dive Joint if I had to stay at school for dinner?
Labels: TMI
posted by kfluff at 7:08 PM
5 Comments:
Hee.
But man, that deep-fried goodness sounds GOOD.
Sometimes, you gotta have it! [but I'd prefer not to be MONITORED when I have it...]
Ack, busted is right! But I could really do for some onion rings...
I'll give you a busted food-delivery story of another variety: when LDH and I lived in Rural Utopia, we'd order pizza, and there were two student who worked there/delivered whom we'd both had in class and knew fairly well. One day we ordered pizza and up rolled one of those two, who was taking a class with LDH that semester, and who had cut class that day. He told us that he and the other student had to argue over who would deliver to us, because student #1 had cut LDH's class and student #2 had cut my class!
So, let's just say it can backfire on the students, too. ;-)
Kate, it's 8:30 in the morning and onion rings STILL sound good!
And NK, that's a great story. Perhaps I should take a poll in my classes and see who works at which local restaurants? Given that so many of my students work at the mall, I suppose the next step is going in and having them ask me if I need a different size. [shudder]e
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