I'm Still A Little Hungry

A conveyer belt passing dish after dish.

I recognize that the green stripe along the rim of the plastic plates would let me keep another fifty cents in my pocket. Two quarters are useful for a lot of things. A number of illusions can be performed by making the audience believe you only have one quarter in your possession. I personally prefer fifty pennies so I can assemble them end to end into a large circle with nearly a foot long diameter. Obviously, I will turn those coins into anything but a profit or investment, but that's not the point. I need help staying with the theme I'm hoping to convey about life, reluctance, and regrets. Talking about coins will not help me especially when I'm going to pay with a debit card.

I'm talking about sushi. Not even that much sushi. It's 4:30 on a tuesday afternoon. But, it is enough sushi to know that I don't want much or any of it. Eighty percent of it has cream cheese in it and the other fifteen percent simply looks sad. I'm not counting the juice they're selling, but it's being offered and who am I to take away its well-deserved five percent presence. I guess there are the rolls with the fish or whatever on top and they have nuts sprinkled about. I'm not sure if they're added for flavor or fashion, but I eat whatever bits I can get in a bite. While my taste buds agree with them, I don't believe my stomach holds the same opinion. Not sure if it's the crab substitute inside or the amount of it I eat, but my stomach is a stubborn politician and will not be swayed.

What is the protocol for a scenario like this? I'm hungry, but the belt isn't conveying offerings that I find beneficial or pleasant. Am I being too picky? Maybe I'd like cream cheese if it's with rice and cucumber. Do I simply know what's best for me? I guess not, considering the one roll I enjoy causes my stomach to go nuts (#whitty). Would I be ungrateful for leaving the establishment without partaking? Yes, I would be. I'd feel awful if a guest came over to my house and didn't even have their sandals off before remembering they need to leave something in their car. Next thing I know, I realize that they needed to leave quickly in their car and I'm putting hummus I made for them into Tupperware that I lost the lid for, so I'm putting the bowl into the Safeway bag I just got and spinning it shut. Just concocting the analogy is making me a tad melancholy; The vision of hummus that no matter how long it's refrigerated, it will dry out. I didn't know a whole clove of garlic would be too much, but that's why metaphors are useful; They can teach you errors before they are made. So, save yourself and save the party. Cut the clove in half.

But, we're talking about sushi. Sushi that questions my own proclivities. I watch my companion eat. His stack of plates by the end of our meal is as tall as the diameter of a circle whose circumference is fifty pennies. I don't ask him all the questions I should have. We talked about silly things like the choices that God presents us, art to be made, and what makes society such a fascinating organism. What I should have been asking follows: Are you satisfied after all that? Don't you wish you didn't eat some of that? While it looked plain, shouldn't I have had that roll with the egg on the outside and the tuna inside? Your stack has so many colors; Isn't that confusing for you to keep track? Are you willing to pay for all of that?

I can't even keep track of my sushi. After all the options passed by me, some more than twice, my plate count comes to the number of dimes in the discount I receive for picking green rimmed dishes. The choices I make leave me with a blue pile. I settle my check and the hostess asks us to please come again.

What can I say: I'm not one to waste of clove of garlic.

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