Going bust
Jun. 21st, 2007 02:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skyringIt's one of the problems of taxidriving. Junk food.
There's often no time to sit down and eat proper. A pie on the run, a burger and chips. You'll see the late night fast-food vans here and there around the city, and each one will have a following of taxidrivers, security patrols, truckdrivers, drunks, waiting for their fatty, salty, sugary food to be delivered.
I haven't succumbed yet, but each evening, after the rush has died down, there comes a time when my tummy starts to complain that it's empty. It all depends where I am, and sometimes I'll be within a stone's throw of my home, and I'll wander in and see if there's anything left over from the family dinner.
Other times, it's a matter of convenience, and though I usually choose Subway, with a high fresh vegetable component, sometimes it's the golden arches, or the Southern colonel.
And a little afterwards, one of the drawbacks of being confined in a small space with one or two strangers becomes apparent. Here's a poem I wrote some time back, which illustrates the problem:
Sunday Morning Coming Down and Letting Go
=========================================
After service this morning we lingered, we three,
The reverend Golightly, my dear wife and me.
The sun streamed in as we talked at the door;
The stained glass tinting the old wooden floor.
I relaxed for a moment, and then with a sigh
My breakfast beans blew quietly by.
I thought I’d escaped, and I would have had if
It hadn’t been quite so much of a whiff.
My wife stopped her chatter, sniffed and said “Pooh!”
Then gazed at me sternly. “Was that awful smell you?”
She gave me a Look and my heart gave a lurch,
What, admit before God that I’d farted in church?
“Me, dear? Of course not!” I said without thinking.
Holding my ground as they both stood there blinking.
A moment of hush and the reverend mused
“Oh it must have been me, then. Please do excuse!”
There's often no time to sit down and eat proper. A pie on the run, a burger and chips. You'll see the late night fast-food vans here and there around the city, and each one will have a following of taxidrivers, security patrols, truckdrivers, drunks, waiting for their fatty, salty, sugary food to be delivered.
I haven't succumbed yet, but each evening, after the rush has died down, there comes a time when my tummy starts to complain that it's empty. It all depends where I am, and sometimes I'll be within a stone's throw of my home, and I'll wander in and see if there's anything left over from the family dinner.
Other times, it's a matter of convenience, and though I usually choose Subway, with a high fresh vegetable component, sometimes it's the golden arches, or the Southern colonel.
And a little afterwards, one of the drawbacks of being confined in a small space with one or two strangers becomes apparent. Here's a poem I wrote some time back, which illustrates the problem:
Sunday Morning Coming Down and Letting Go
=========================================
After service this morning we lingered, we three,
The reverend Golightly, my dear wife and me.
The sun streamed in as we talked at the door;
The stained glass tinting the old wooden floor.
I relaxed for a moment, and then with a sigh
My breakfast beans blew quietly by.
I thought I’d escaped, and I would have had if
It hadn’t been quite so much of a whiff.
My wife stopped her chatter, sniffed and said “Pooh!”
Then gazed at me sternly. “Was that awful smell you?”
She gave me a Look and my heart gave a lurch,
What, admit before God that I’d farted in church?
“Me, dear? Of course not!” I said without thinking.
Holding my ground as they both stood there blinking.
A moment of hush and the reverend mused
“Oh it must have been me, then. Please do excuse!”
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no subject
Date: 2007-06-21 07:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-21 08:12 am (UTC)(((((((((((((((((((((((Pete)))))))))))))))))))))))))))
Date: 2007-06-21 09:36 am (UTC)Re: (((((((((((((((((((((((DiscoveryLover)))))))))))))))))))))))))))
Date: 2007-06-21 06:30 pm (UTC)Blame CoffeeBron - she wanted poems about mistaken identity, and I came up with that one.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-21 11:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-21 02:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-21 03:29 pm (UTC)Those of us trying to change the state of health here in the US, call it The Standard American Diet. aka SAD. Don't follow in those footsteps my friend. Stick with the apple Atenea_Nike suggested!
Try stashing breakfast bars in the glove box.
Date: 2007-06-21 06:08 pm (UTC)