Thanksgiving.
Or rather, American Thanksgiving I should say.
Nothing really prepared us for this day. In truth, it kind of took us by surprise, even though we were well aware that this day was coming.
We had, ourselves, already had Thanksgiving about 6 weeks previous; turkey, potatoes, pumpkin pie, and in the case of my family, kapusta, perogi and barczcz (we Polish).
It all started when we were in the grocery store the day before, buying beer. The nice cashier asked us if we were stocking up for Thanksgiving, we replied in the negative and that we had already had it earlier in the year, and that we were from Canada. A pleasant conversation followed, but at this point I looked up from our checkout lane, and as if seeing the world for the first time, I realized what sort of hell we had unwittingly stepped in to.
Everywhere around us were last minute shoppers with grocery carts fit to bursting with boxes of food, turkeys and alcohol. It was even a wonder that we had gotten to the cashier when we did, by some miracle we'd arrived at the cashier just as she returned from a break or something, because there was no wait.
Around us, that was not the case. I looked around, bewildered. On my way out of the store I took to the sunny sky and brushed off the incident.
Returning to the Thanksgiving itself, we didn't really do much to celebrate. I wrote a blog post, we swam, we drank, we watched "Sons of Anarchy" Season 2. Things were great.
Until about 4:30pm. As is our custom, every day we go for dinner, or lunch at a local eatery. It dawned on us that it was the wrong day to plan on finding an open restaurant.
With haste we made for the care, sure that there was at least one place that would be open, no matter the circumstances: McDonalds. Alas, our search for McDonalds for dinner was in naught: they all closed at 11am that morning.
It dawned on us that there was little to be done. We said "fuck that!" and drove around looking for food.
After about 30 minutes it dawned on us that we had but two choices. These choices dawned on us as being bad.
It dawned on us we had very little choices.
Option 1: Sketchy Sports Bar.
Option 2: Chinese All You Can Eat Bouffetorium.
Option 3: Starve and Go Back to the House and Eat Sandwiches or Something.
We, in our most dire need went for Option 2.
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My favourite of the dishes served at the Empire Buffetorium (not to say I had any, but just the name alone strikes mirth into the hearts of men) was "HAM-FRIED RICE." For some reason it tickles me.
Adam had the line that summed up the meal: "It would be nice, but for the abundance..."
I was relatively happy with what I got for my $TenBux, but my compatriots were less enthused. We vowed on that day to not go to any more Chinese Bouffets.
Writing, reading, relaxing, it was all had that day. Rockin'.
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