Thinking about sushi at this year's DC reminded me of other conventions and assemblies. I used to love going to the conventions to get that ham and rye, Shasta lemon lime, and a bag of fruit. Before that, we had fresh donuts made in a little booth like a popcorn maker only it made donuts. They were small, fresh, fragrant, six to a cardboard container like a fry boat. Oh those were the days.
I even remember being younger than that and we had cafeteria lines, how the big manly brothers would pay for two plates but put it all on one. I cracked eggs one morning starting at five a.m. to be scrambled until I went through about ten gross boxes. That's 1440 eggs I think, but math is a four-letter word.
One time a couple I knew got one plate and shared it. I wondered if they were on a diet and asked my mother and she said no, they were having money problems. So she sent me to put some of those JW food stamps in the sister's pocket when she wasn't looking. The next day, they both had their own plate.
In 2004, I had issues with bureaucracy completing my education and could not accept a job when I was supposed to start. I did not have my degree in hand and it was required to accept the position, so I ended up unemployed and very broke that summer for the DC. I wasn't even sure how I was going to make it.
That is the first year Bob got sick. He had to have a partial foot amputation and it started him on a downward spiral that resulted in the 2011 announcement I reported earlier: Our Brother, Bob Oxford, has fallen asleep.
His daughter, Rene, needed help with her janitorial services, and guess who filled the gap? Jehovah provided. I made enough money to get us to the DC comfortably. One thing that helped was the sandwiches.
Let me back up and say that when I didn't have a diploma, I cleaned out the closets and put every bit of unneeded stuff on eBay. I sold all of it, and the day all the auctions ended, this being 2004, I said a little prayer that all the winning bidders would pay electronically - instantly, rather than mailing money orders, which people still did in those pre-paypal days. If I had to wait for checks in the mail, we were going to be hungry. This was just before I started working for Rene.
Well, I went to find boxes to mail all the stuff when it did get paid for. I was heading down Sixth Street in Fayetteville just about up to Taco Place (Oh I am homesick now) and I meant to go behind Kimpel Hall and get boxes on the dock. Book boxes would be just right for what I needed to mail, and there were always boxes back there.
Then, and I had no idea at the time why, but I had the urge to go on up to the corner of Razorback Road and Sixth to the EZGo Convenience Store and check their dumpster. I knew they typically put the trash out once a day, about that time of day, and it would be easier to get to their dumpster, to maneuver their lot, than the one on campus where parking and one-ways made it a hassle.
When I pulled up to the dumpster, a guy in the EZGo apron gave me this demonic look that almost frightened me as he walked away from the dumpster. Still, I got out and looked inside.
There were 15 perfect boxes stacked in easy reach. I needed 14.
I picked up the one on top, and it was heavy. Heavy, and sealed.
And very cold. The box was labeled for one dozen microwavable chicken breast with honey mustard sandwiches. The date on the box end was September and I was holding the box in early June.
I thought they were recalled for Ebola virus or something. But I still needed the box and didn't feel like dumping the contents, so I shoved it into the backseat and got the next box.
One dozen sausage cheese biscuits.
The next box was poor boys.
Then hamburgers, char-grilled.
Then chargrilled riblets, kind of like face McRibs.
Breakfast croissants.
Double cheeseburger.
Chicken salad on white bread in those triangular packages.
Pimento cheese on wheat bread in those triangular packages.
Double cheese coneys.
Chicken fried steak, chicken fried chicken, grilled chicken, more cheeseburgers.
I didn't know what to think.
I got home and dumped all the sandwiches in our freezer except for the triangles which went in the fridge. I checked all packaging for tampering. As far as I could tell there was nothing wrong with the individual packages or the sealed cases. All the dates were 60-120 days out. Had it been only one flavor, I'd have thought something was up.
We had nothing in the house but Ramen noodles and peanut butter and a few staples. The girls wanted cheeseburgers and I prayed for an answer but still was chicken to eat any of them. I called Rene and told her what happened.
She laughed. She said, "you know that demonic look the clerk gave you?"
"Uh, yeah," I answered, knowing I was unlikely to ever forget that venomous glare.
"He was looking at you that way because he was putting those sandwiches out there for his friends to come pick up, and you intercepted it."
"You think?"
"Yes. He's lucky you didn't call the police instead."
I never thought about that. I really was so happy to get the boxes, that I didn't focus on the rest.
The girls had cheeseburgers that night, and breakfast the next morning, I liked the poor boys myself, no pun intended, and Rene's nephew came over and ate double char-grills till I thought he'd barf, but he was just a growing boy is all.
Everybody on eBay paid electronically and the next day I could fill my car up with gas, which was one of the reasons I headed for EZGo instead of the English department. The difference was only about six blocks, but my gas light had just come on.
The next week we took triangle packs of sandwiches to the convention for lunch because those were good cold. Not exactly a ham on rye and a bag of fruit, and I wonder sometimes if we will have junk food donuts in the new world, just once a year for sentimental reasons. Probably not.
We were going to that DC. When Lenora found out I had $$ issues, she offered to credit card us there. I was glad it didn't come to that, but I did learn firsthand that Jehovah wants us seated at the table when he spreads his spiritual feast.
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