The craziest and the most inhumane act I’ve done in my entire life is to scavenge a leftover chicken from a fast-food restaurant. Technically, it wasn’t a leftover. It wasn’t even touched. Whoever the owner was, he’s an angel sent from above. It was part of a two-piece chicken meal and only one of them has been eaten. Doing it tested our value of dignity, morality, and survival. We’ve debated between ourselves knowing we have to face the CCTV cameras, the two waitresses who are also interested on the chicken and the pretty girl eating near our table who’s constantly glancing at us and probably judging our moves. But, we still did it. We snuck the chicken into my friend’s bag and left immediately.
While walking away, we admired our price. The precious fried chicken still crisp despite the ordeal we went through to achieve it. And this is the part where we declare “the sweet smell of success”…literally because dammit, foul-smelling fried chicken does not exist. And the moment our incisors dug deep into the depths of the aromatic fried flesh. The moment it danced with our saliva as our tongues rolled and our teeth grind in the most gluttonous rhythm. Until the moment it left traces of meat and spices as it slides down our esophagus. It was perfect. And when we were done, we were left standing with the remnants of two things: Chicken bones and our dignity.
This is when we reached the line between embarrassment and satisfaction. Should we feel ashamed because what we did was an indigenous and nomadic act? or should we feel proud because we were a couple of badasses and we did a really tough act that no other person in his/her right mind would be willing to do it?
|The odds were in our favor?|