The Best Laid Plans

Darren stood in line with two jugs of Stoli, pajama pants half tucked into his Crocs, parka unzipped, hanging off of his doughy frame. His hair was really thinning these days and he was quite self conscious so he combed it evenly in all directions around his skull, in no discernible pattern giving the illusion of coverage yet upon closer inspection, one could see the patchiness, his scalp shining through in uneven stripes. It had started so well. Three years in culinary school, a placement at The Arc on Fifth and then total, utter, complete flame out. Self immolation, actually. Darren never really could cut it as a line cook, let alone a sous. He was a saucier at first but somehow found himself in over his head, working under a notorious drug addled control freak of a bad boy genius chef du jour, who quickly realized Darren's skillset was grossly lacking. Humiliated, ridiculed, then literally set on fire, in an incident that became known as creme brulee a la Darren, he didn't last long at The Arc. No job meant no money, which turned into no home rather quickly. Things went from bad to worse to dire straits. Graham had been a pastry chef at school with Darren and he let him kip on his couch for a month or so but it was close quarters and Darren was not a small man. Years of cooking for a living had done a number on his already pillowy frame. Tack on the depression, stress of unemployment and a blossoming alcohol addiction and Darren's world was decidely lacking in puppies and sunshine. No rainbows and kittens for him, no sirree. But tonight was the turn around. A simple small function, a 30th birthday party dinner for 50 people, working with a friend of Graham's who was starting his own food truck slash catering business. Deluxe grilled cheese and gourmet pickles, tacos and empenadas.  Darren knew Graham had stuck his neck out for him so he was doing his best not to screw things up. He was even going to shave and shower, make an effort. After he picked up the booze. He was almost home free. Make it through the checkout, then get the truck to the site, and bingo bongo, bob's your uncle. Just drive safely, within the speed limit, obeying all the laws. No one would ever know his license had been suspended. Everything would be just fine. Darren was making a change and the change started tonight. He was carpe'ing the diem, back in the saddle, grasping that golden ring. If only he'd checked to see if the taillights were both working. It would have been a swell party.

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