Aside from the joyous occasion of Harassment Day, the greatest holiday for adults is easily Thanksgiving. I have to add the caveat “adult” because as a kid Christmas and Halloween clearly dominate the fun times, but once you start giving out presents and candy instead of getting them, those once happy holidays transform into nothing more than a painful chore to endure. That’s when Thanksgiving automatically rises to the top of the holiday food chain. It’s the best meal of the fuckin year. It’s the only thing old-ass niggas like myself can look forward to annually, besides maybe a cancerless prostate exam.
So imagine the joy of rolling out of bed this year to go cover some goddamn high school football game at 11 am. Actually, as bad as this game might be nothing could ever beat the first one of these Turkey Day slop fests I ever covered like ten years ago. For four straight quarters, it fuckin poured rain nonstop so bad my notes got stuck together, and the team I was covering, the winless team with the first year head coach who had a heart attack, and whose replacement coach’s dad died—lost a-fuckin-gain. Way to give me a feel good high note to go out on boys. It was like writing about having leprosy and coming up with a positive spin.
Anyway back to the present. I’m supposed to cover the game, then run to the office and type up a quick re-cap, then go get my grub on. The entire story could wait until after the tryptophan kicked in. Except when I got back to the office, plans horribly changed, and suddenly I was being asked to write the whole fuckin thing before I left, effectively killing my chances for a Thanksgiving Miracle just as dead as the turkey I wouldn’t get to eat. I finished the fucker but it was way too late to head out to my customary Boston feast by the time I was done, so I headed home instead, heartbroken. And fuckin hungry.
Like a dumbass—I thought at the time a smart ass—I had skipped my customary hot dog at the concession stand earlier in the morning. Why the fuck fill up on hog anus and ketchup when I need to make as much room for turkey and mashed potatoes a possible? So now when those dreams were dashed, my empty-ass tummy was a-rumblin’. And man let me tell you, Christmas Eve is like a Madi Gras compared to Thanksgiving night. Not that anyone would know I guess, because who the fuck goes out for food on Thanksgiving, but every goddamn establishment on the planet was closed. I’m talkin’ even McDonald’s was peaced out. Ditto for Taco Bell. Wasn’t even a chink joint in sight. A chink joint. They must be at home eating fried cranberry sauce. You gotta be kidding me.
I stumbled into my abode crestfallen. Not to mention muthafuckin pissed. Then I remembered something. For this past Halloween I had gotten a special little present to take with me for my annual trip to the hippie playground known as Vermont, except I didn’t end up going. So the present was still in my drawer somewhere.
I might not have eaten any turkey for Thanksgiving, but I sure ate me some mushrooms.