Late-lunch in late-july (updated 01/21/22)

Chapter 1 - part 1: maniax sauce

It was late July and I had the pleasure of driving my eternally carless roommate, David, around on his various errands. What made it all worth it though was that I got to live rent free at his parent’s almost-on-the-beach house during the summer between school years. How his parents could afford a vacation home only their kids used, yet my 1988 Celica was their son’s main means of transportation I’ll never know. But I digress. Today’s task was an internship interview at an accounting firm.
“Portfolio?”
“Check!”

"Resume and letters of recommendation?”
“Check!”
“aight best of luck dude” I said as I smacked his butt rising from the passenger seat.
David jolted up a little before smirking and heading up the steps of the building ahead of him, “I’ll only be about an hour and a half, but I’ll call you when I’m done.” He yelled back just before I put the car back into gear.
I nodded and drove off, turning my thoughts to the fast food restaurant I spied a few blocks earlier on. Their specialty was chicken strips and they’d only recently started franchising out into the area. It seemed like a fine enough place to grab myself lunch. Anything to get me out of the summer humidity.
The icy air conditioning kissed my face upon entering the establishment. I ordered a Maniax combo and took my order placard to a corner table. I realized I probably wouldn’t actually eat the 5 chicken strips my meal came with, but the free upgrade to an XL fresh-squeezed lemonade was all too tempting in my heat stricken state. I patiently waited for my order to come out when a distinguished man came barreling through the entrance over to the counter. He didn’t even look at the menu; just started ordering once the cashier had finished her scripted greeting. For a second I thought I misheard him order a Fanatix combo, a meal that included a whopping 8 chicken strips, before I quickly had to turn my attention to the worker who had brought over my own order. I quickly looked back over at the cashier’s counter to catch the rest of the man’s order, but he’d disappeared as if I’d imagined him. I tucked away into my food keeping an eye on the clock for when David would probably be calling. At over an hour left, I’d be just fine.
After a few minutes I heard the bathroom door swing open and caught the man from before walking out with freshly washed hands. It was at that point I really got a good look at him. He was somewhere in the ballpark of 6ft, stocky with a full head of blonde hair mostly brushed back save for unkempt sections due to the summer heat. Sporting a blazer and slacks, he carried his receipt in hand while searching for a table. Secretly I hoped he’d take a table near me and I was rewarded when he picked the booth just up and over to the left a little. I could observe him casually without totally leering at him.
He removed his blazer before sitting down, pausing to unbutton and roll up the sleeves of his blue button down. I noticed the way the fabric clung to his wide back, either due to the sweat he’d worked up outdoors or his overall sturdy frame. To describe him further the only words to escape my thoughts were “corn fed.” No sooner than he was properly seated did a worker bring out his meal. At which point I quickly learned I’d heard his order correctly, and then some. On top of the hefty 8 chicken strip meal, he’d ordered an additional 2 strips and enough Maniax sauce to dip each and every one of them thoroughly unhindered. This was a man who knew how to eat.
Having left my own meal idle for a bit too long I continued on, checking in on the man’s progress from time to time, somewhat in disbelief that he intended to toss back that much food on his lunch hour, but admittedly more intrigued than anything else. One strip, two strip, he sauced and swallowed them down with vigor. Small splatters of Maniax sauce began to pepper the corners of his mouth. By the seventh strip it became clear that the way his shirt clung to his body was due to the hedonistic way in which he seemed to regularly enjoy his food. Even now, over halfway into his meal and an XL lemonade down he was powering through if only with a little more labored effort. My gaze fell down to his increasingly tortured button down shirt. Leaning back into the booth his swelling belly created a shelf for fallen crumbs and grease. I only wondered what his dry cleaning bill budget must be. Gradually I shifted focus to the buttons surrounding the widest swell of belly. They held on dearly but still bore the brunt of his show of gluttony. Suddenly I was ripped out of my reverie by my ringing cell phone buzzing on my diner table.
“Yo! I got it!” came David’s cheery voice from the phone. To my dismay he was finished interviewing much earlier than anticipated
Scrambling to put any words together I managed to muster a “Congratulations” before David rattled off he was waiting out front and wanted to take me to lunch to celebrate. Oops…
I surveyed what was left of my meal. Three untouched chicken strips and the majority of my fries. I had to lose the evidence, but was already out of time. Against my better judgment I turned my attention towards the hefty gentleman one chicken strip away from finishing his meal and shyly approached his booth.
“hi there, sorry to bother you,” I quietly interjected. The man was caught off guard having just taken a hearty bite of his food, now seemingly intent on swallowing as fast as possible without choking. I silently cursed myself for putting him in exactly the type of position I hated, but continued on explaining.
“-so I actually ordered too much food for myself and just got invited out to eat. Can’t exactly show up with half a Maniax combo in my car heh”
This was weird. I was definitely going to weird him out. Why was I offering my leftovers to a stranger?
“is there any chance you’d want the rest of-“
“Oh man that’s happened to me more times than I can count! I’ll gladly take the contraband off your hands!” the man bellowed right after swallowing. Despite his size I hadn’t really expected him to have such a booming voice.
Reaching a meaty paw out for the food container and stifling back a burp with the other he said “I’ve got room for ‘em rigggggght-” and motioned around his belly with a finger, “-here!” before plunging that same finger into a section of his surprisingly pliable flesh, putting his buttons in immediate danger.
Breaking out into a hearty laugh at his own joke he was quickly caught off guard by the errant burp he thought he’d stifled back.
“Whoops, That one –urp- they sometimes get away from me when I eat at a place like this” he said as he smiled through full, slightly embarrassed, cheeks.
“Well I really appreciate your help. It’s a shame when good food goes to waste.” I tapered off the conversation. The man nodded sagely before I took my leave.
While working my way to the car I realized if he was true to his word he’d be putting a whole 13 chicken strips, complete with sauce and fixings, away just for lunch. I wondered if I’d end up partially responsible for any wardrobe malfunctions when the man returned to work. I was only a bit sad there wasn’t a scenario in which I’d be around to find out. I entertained myself with imagery of potential lost buttons or torn inseams while David rattled off about his new internship. We’d both had a good day.