I wrote awhile back about how I had managed to overcome my irrational fear of doing something, like going to a restaurant by myself. The restaurant I referred to in that blog was a Chinese buffet.
I love Chinese food, what is there not to love? How many other nationalities do you know have invented twenty thousand different chicken dishes that are, essentially, the exact same thing, just a different sauce? And who would name an entire dish after a historical figure?
The Chinese, that’s who! They were brazen enough to name an entire dish after a man who led troops into a bloody battle against their own countrymen. I’ve yet to see Robert E. Lee’s Fricasseed Duck on the menu of any restaurant I’ve visited.
Without a doubt, though, the best part of Chinese food comes at the very end of the meal. After you are finished stuffing your face with sesame chicken, pepper chicken, jalapeno chicken, orange chicken, and General Tso’s chicken, a bouncy little waiter will bring your check to the table. In most restaurants, I don’t get excited about receiving my check, but I find myself exuberantly awaiting the arrival of my bill because I know that placed gingerly on top of that piece of paper, I will find an inevitably stale, oddly shaped cookie, with a mysterious message inside.
The other night, after finishing my meal and waving off the waiter for attempting to fill up my water glass for the fifteenth time, I hurriedly cracked open my fortune cookie. There inside, on the tiny little piece of paper, was the sweetest thing anyone, or anything rather, has ever said to me.
“Everyone admires you for your talent and ability”
Now, I have had complimentary fortune cookies before. They usually show a great deal of faith in me, saying that my kindness will lead to great wealth or that success is inevitable. These little baked treats really believe in me, it seems, and constantly are urging me forward towards some sort of world domination.
This is a far cry from the end of most other meals. If I were to enjoy a nice burger at Jack in the Box, my food wouldn’t tell me anything nice at the end of the meal. In fact, I get the feeling it is just saying, “Way to go, tubbo! You just ate an entire day’s worth of food in one sitting. I hope you enjoy hardened arteries!”
There is no judgment from a fortune cookie, though. Just blind faith in me.
If someone were smart, they would create a type of fortune cookie for everyday life. Whenever someone is feeling down at work, a waiter would walk by, hand you a cookie and within seconds you would feel great due to a tiny baked good telling you that “a happy life is just in front of you.” It would be a great motivator for a company to have around.
Of course, this fortune seems a bit off. I mean EVERYONE? What are we talking about here? Do we mean everyone I know, everyone in the restaurant, everyone working at the fortune cookie factory? Surely we don’t mean everyone in the world admires me for my talents and abilities.
Don’t get me wrong. I have a lot of talents and abilities. I’m very good at tying my shoes, having done it every day for at least the past 20 years. I can run a microwave like a pro, and I have the uncanny ability to find the bathroom in the middle of the night.
These just don’t seem like admirable talents to me.
Who am I to question a fortune cookie, though? They are (I assume) created by magic men who can see into the future. Surely they know something I don’t.
I just hope that knowing about this admiration that everyone has for me doesn’t go to my head. It would be very easy to start feeling overly confident and cocky knowing that everyone feels this way about me. I don’t want to become one of those inaccessible geniuses that spends their life alone because no one believes that they can measure up to their brilliance.
I guess I could just go to Jack in the Box if my ego gets too out of control. That burger will knock me down a peg or two.