The Christmas Break Story

it was the december of ’03 in normal, il.  my roommate and i were trying to ride out the food supply we had at our apartment until going back home for christmas.  just trying to make it that last couple weeks without having to buy groceries again after our thanksgiving feast.  after finals were over for me, i went out and got drunk on cheap beer and even cheaper tequila.  the fact that i did not eat very much was not on my mind.  many hours and bad mexican accents later i realized the booze was catching up to me.  even i could not deny rudimentary mathematics.  i was in emergency mode, and HAD to go home and eat food.  as i made my way back to locust avenue i somehow remembered that i had to be quiet because my roommate had a final in the morning.  i walked in and immediately went to the bathroom.  it was normally way too late to make food but these were extenuating circumstances.  i rummaged through the cabinets carefully.  nothing.  would the freezer contain some delicious microwaveable object? surely not.  as i opened the fridge door wildly against the wall, i shifted the remnants of its content from side to side, hoping somehow i had passed up something on previous attempts.  then, it appeared to me in the way back right, against a garlic clove… it was the holy grail of drunken-fridge-raiding-folklore……a ziplock bag filled with meat.  i carefully grabbed the clean plate from our dish rack and emptied the meat-bag onto the plate and put it in the microwave for an undetermined amount of time.  once i had the meal cooking, i focused on the largest glass of water that i was about to make for myself.  i should try to pee again as to kill some time and also assure myself no distractions once my feast was ready.  after washing up i decided that it had been long enough and went to the microwave.  i took out the steaming plate, went to the couch and had at it.  no tv.  no music.  complete silence.  as i was slamming way too hot chunks down my face i speculated what sort of meat i was eating.  i had the drunk’s remorse about eating a roommates leftovers, but i knew i had to get something in my stomach or it was going to end badly.   i finished up, belched, and tried to walk to bed without falling into a wall.  when i woke up the next afternoon i found my roomate watching tv on the couch as i went to the bathroom.  his final went well.  as i made my way to the kitchen for some coffee i saw my used plate on the breakfast bar and was reminded of my actions hours before.  i confessed that i ate his leftovers from last night and asked what exactly it was.  steak? pot roast perhaps?  after a few minutes of me trying to navigate my way through his confusion as to what i was talking about he erupted, “that was turkey from that thanksgiving meal we made!   you fucking ate that?!?!”