So ya boy had just landed in Atlanta when he got a text message. “Waited for you but it said your plane was late, so we left. Will pay for my share of the shuttle.” I looked at the timestamp. 11:35. It was 11:38. True, I was still on the runway, and probably wouldn’t be off the plane for another 10 minutes, but still a little hasty, no? But I guess when you’re my friend from high school—with whom I had coordinated flight times for easy to-and-from airport travel—and you meet someone at Logan Airport who’s going to the exact same wedding you are and just happens to have extra space in her car, you don’t exactly ask her boyfriend to hold up for 15 minutes. This is understandable, as would be the small twinge of guilt that follows.
Having spent $35 on a morning cab ride (don’t ask), I decided to take public transportation up to Buckhead, which cost me about 45 minutes and $2.50. I didn’t mind whatsoever, but Bruce felt even worse when he heard. When I called him from the train, I could hear the regret coming through the earpiece. “Just call me when you get here,” he said, “… we’re going to get some food.” The word “food” hung in the air like a pinata. Not only did I miss the ride, now I wasn’t going to eat before a scheduled 2 p.m. basketball game with the groom, and Bruce felt bad about it. The funny thing is that I didn’t, really. I had eaten a large meal at LaGuardia, and when I finally did get to the hotel, the groom had left us a goodie bag with an apple and peanuts, so when Bruce called at 1:15 to ask if I wanted anything from the food court, I was like “No… well, tell me what they have.” He started with Taco Bell, and then “there’s a Chick-Fil-A…”
“Get me a Chick-Fil-A,” I interrupted. “Get me one of those.”
I had heard things. He brought me the Chick-Fil-A, and it was Good. Biblically so? Maybe. But Chick-Fil-A became a big part of the weekend, with members of the wedding party consistently running across the street from our hotel to the mall to get some. The groom himself ate breakfast there at 11 a.m. on his wedding day, only to follow it up with lunch at 2:30, passing his best man on the way in. With the wedding closing in, the only words that needed to be exchanged were “Chick-Fil-A” by both entering and exiting parties. They be knowing.
So, to Bruce: I may have missed the ride, but you gave me Chick-Fil-A. It’s entirely possible that I, in fact, owe you.*
* On second thought, no, no I don’t. But it is a damn good sandwich.