I had a moment, two weeks ago, where I thought, “You know, I’m probably not gonna get stabbed, but if I were to, this would be where it happens.”
I was picking up a couple pizzas for the people (#pizzasforthepeople) at the Little Caesars next to the Target on the interstate—the one up north, not the Slaughter Target where don’t worry it’s not what it sounds like that’s just the name of the intersecting street. The Little Caesars, for reasons unbeknownst to me, has a gate blocking off a courtyard leading to its entrance. It’s the only gate I’ve ever seen in a strip mall. It’s the only courtyard I’ve ever seen in a strip mall that wasn’t marketing itself to people like the moms on my little league all-star team. Maybe it’s an old Roman habit, the gate and courtyard thing. Little Caesars sends its real estate scouts out into the world telling them, “See if you can find a spot with a courtyard, and whatever you do lay low on March 15th.” Its effect on me, though, was to make me immediately think I was walking into a trap. You walk through an ominous gate, you expect it to close behind you. Especially when it’s dark out.
I don’t know why getting stabbed came to mind. Maybe it was the guy walking ominously towards me from the arcade games. Maybe it was that I went around the line to get the pizzas from the heating rack (partially to save time, partially so I could flex my Spanish skills from high school) and some people looked peeved. Maybe it was just the gate, or the whole Caesar thing. But the thought crossed my mind—that thought I listed above—and then my next thought was, “That would be great content if I lived.” Weird thought, yeah, but I think I’m right on it. For the rest of my life, nobody would have a better story than mine. The Odyssey? A Christmas Carol? Try getting stabbed while trying to keep two very similar pizza orders straight at a Little Caesars in the third-safest major city in the United States. J.R.R. Tolkien could never.
Thankfully, I did not get stabbed, and while you always hope to not get stabbed, I now really hope I don’t get stabbed. Because if I get stabbed somewhere boring, like a gas station or the spot where the hike and bike trail downtown goes through some foliage and it’s pitch black before sunrise, I’m gonna be so disappointed it didn’t happen elsewhere. Specifically, at the Little Caesars next to the Target on the interstate that isn’t the Slaughter Target (though perhaps it could become known as that, if, you know).
