Chey’s Lounge

I don’t want to write too much today and don’t entirely know what to write about, so I decided to tell you about my 17 minute trip home from a BBQ establishment this past Sunday, September 21, 2025. Watch, it’s gonna be long af or something. Nah nah, it probably won’t. It’ll probably be a Goldilocks story, just right. High hopes with that “probably,” but oh well!

This short story really starts December 14, 2024. Before this past Sunday, this was the last time I had seen my beloved brisket chili, a special, on their menu. By the time I had gotten someone to call an order, they had already sold out of that precious poop soup on that fateful Saturday. It was a devastating blow to my heart and since then, I had been looking out for those delicious, smoky chunks of beef. Week after week, either nothing at all, or something, but no chili. Once spring rolled around, I was realistic and accepted my almost certain fate: I’m not getting any brisket chili any time soon. 

I’ll admit, I hadn’t even gotten my hopes up yet when last Wednesday, I saw it. There it was. My Sunday linner (lunch/dinner) plans were set. And you can bet your ass I was ordering early.  And that’s exactly what I did. They opened at 11:30. I called around noon. They weren’t out of everything. It felt so GOOD. The guy asked when I wanted to pick up and I was like, “l guess as soon as possible?” He asked for a moment so he can look at the board and asked if 12:20 was okay. I was somewhat surprised and said it was. You see, these are the second owners of this establishment and I’m still not accustomed to the way they run things. The original owners had incredible recipes, but they sure as hell weren’t built for food service with any semblance of volume. They would tell you it would be an hour and then it would still be another hour on top of that once you got there. Was simply worth it regardless. 

I was trying to express the paraplegic dachshunds bladder and I’m just not great at it sometimes. I put her in her crate and she started yelling at me and her tail was lifting up, which usually signifies poops are in the butt and they are about to not be any longer. So I took her out again and nothing. I was bamboozled. And now I was running a little late. It doesn’t really matter, but I generally prefer to be on time. So my body is already a little on edge. Then, I finally am on my way and totally go the wrong way. If I keep this writing stuff on this little blog, you’ll find going the wrong way while in a rush happens nearly every time I’m panicking and navigating. It’s incredible, honestly. I ended up getting there about 9 minutes late. Everything was good. I was eventually on my way. 

I had 2 bags of food. When I put them on the floor of my passenger seat, I knew it wasn’t going to work out exactly as I’d like. And remember, at least one of these bags contains the precious brisket chili. Not long after the journey home begins, one of those bitches just flops over. I tried to pick it up, but it really wasn’t staying upright. So I decided to put it on the seat. I did so knowing I no longer have a vehicle with leather seats and I had no idea what could be happening in that bag looking to leak out. I try to just ignore the leaning tower of Pisa in the passenger seat. The other bag is holding steady on the floor in front of its buddy.  This shit on the seat was not cooperating though. I ultimately decided to just hold onto the bag for the rest of the drive. I just so happened to come to this conclusion as a Boeing 737 is landing at the airport I just passed like 15 seconds earlier. Something extremely unsettling to the nervous system about driving with one hand (I’m normally a both hands on the wheel, 9:00 and 3:00 driver), plane a few feet over head, precious cargo in tow. But guess what? I made it home, I ate my Que, and I lived to tell the tale (and now I actually did)! It was good. I was happy. Thank you xoxo.