Random Generator: The 20 Piece Quest

1:05 p.m.: We are less than an hour away from my meeting with 20 Chicken McNuggets (CM's for short) for the "It Must Be Bad For You If It Is This Cheap" price of five American dollars. I have no shame in my pursuit of wholesale foods that, despite recent public infatuation with health and food awareness, taste better than every and any thing deemed edible by the FDA and civilized peoples.
If you want to be enthralled by the scope of this mission you should know that this was planned with  advanced scheduling techniques, statistical considerations, calorie intake and calorie burning charts, terrain and weather projections, supply distribution and inventory, all to lessen the possibility of a mishap. My brother, knowing very well how important this quest was, agreed to accompany me on what would be a 15 block trek to the nearest McDonald's.
You see, it all started last night with a commercial induced craving for the small fried nuggets filled with chicken parts. Commercials work. They plant the seed from which a desire for something like CM's flourishes into bursts of lucid daydreams involving yourself and the product.

The Holy Grail.

1:13 p.m.: I'm ready. My feet are tucked into boots made to specifically walk on snow, ice, black snow ponds and the slush combo of all three. My brother has confirmed that he is on his way to our rendezvous and we have synchronization. We will meet at the nearest pizzeria, scoff at the thought of a $1.50 slice and make our way down the Avenue of Jamaica in the city of Woodhaven, Queens.

1:32 p.m: A small snag in the schedule. My brother has been delayed due to public transportation and general New Yorkness. We are now scheduled to meet at 2:30 barring any other unforeseen occurrences. I make sure to not give in to any hint of hunger; the nuggets must find an empty home to inhabit and decorate to their liking.

1:35 p.m.: The dog rolls off the couch mid-sleep and assures me he is okay upon landing. He is informed of the situation and wishes to simply play his part like a good soldier. I am convinced his father was a great warrior and his mother a heavy handed protector.

1:45 p.m.: I become aware through a social media communique that New York Fashion Week is currently taking place in those areas of the city that people who do not inhabit it believe to be its entirety. Movies have wonderfully misleading effects. These people do not know of the Avenue of Jamaica or the city of Woodhaven, Queens. If they were to hear of this place I am sure they would dismiss it as a lower class stronghold inhabited solely by badly dressed humans who insist on being on the tail ends of trends. Well, that may be true. But I ask you the following, so that you, my dear reader, may demonstrate your valor like that of a noble knight who is willing to risk everything in the name of what is right: Is anyone focused on NYFW worthy of so many CM's for the mere price of five dollars? The answer is a resounding and shrieking no.

Fallen warrior in need of CM's at 6a.m. attacks McDonald's gatekeeper.

2:06 p.m.: (Text Message from my brother): "I just left Norwood."
This is my signal to start walking towards our rally point. I say goodbye to my dog and he responds by giving me a look of betrayal; the world is not his to roam and I have no idea why this is so. But I must abide by laws that do not allow dogs inside of a McDonald's because I cannot afford the ticket, incarceration or hindrance. My exit reveals a pleasant temperature and even more melted ice than earlier this morning. I just may be able to walk these streets as intended by the people who paved them years ago.

2:09 p.m.: Rendezvous. I spot my brother walking from the train station with a smile on his face and the usual demeanor of a person that is too out of place on the Avenue of Jamaica. As we walk, the inhabitants of this town give us strange looks, which I realize are directed at my brother's head. They are the confused stares of people whose painting of a commonplace portrait has just been turned upside down by the strange man wandering their neighborhood. Maybe they'll have this as a good story to tell at dinner tonight: "Honey, you won't believe the type of people moving in around here..."

2:20 p.m.: Arriving at McDonald's is no special event even if we are alien to this place; in the 15 years I have lived in this neighborhood I have visited this specific McDonald's five times. The distance and my survival strategy of not eating the food served here often are to blame. But I am here now, ordering.....walking up the stairs with 20 CM's and two small Cokes.

Success.

2:37 p.m.: Miraculous ghosts of the chickens laid waste in order to produce these bite sized nuggets of goodness, I submit myself to thee.
We devoured the food in front of us while occasionally coming up for air and commenting on the strangeness of our lives; how this was considered an event came up as a topic and we laughed it off without any qualms. With stomachs full we became aware of our surroundings and the people inhabiting the scenery: an old woman who had received one too many bad omens in her life, the teenage girl either cutting class or killing time, the woman on her lunch break eating quickly, the mother poisoning her children with large sweetened teas and full on meals. What a zoo.

2:43 p.m.: Conversation regarding the reality of human diets that include this food on a regular basis. We were, in other words, putting our liberal college education to use by making sure that we had somewhat of a grasp on contemporary liberal issues.    

2:52 p.m.: Climbing down the spire's second story I walked onto the ground level full of the remains of once living creatures. We had decided upon what to cook for dinner and some ingredients needed to be collected in order to pull off this next mission. It was strangely short lived and not as satisfying as planned, but thus is life, full of small quests we give severity to.


- Alex Moran (@MoonbeanMarcos)