Popeye's run gone bad...

I woke up Sunday morning slightly hungover from Saturday night's festivities. It was Jon's birthday outing the previous night so naturally, everyone got bombed. Eyewitness reports indicate that Jon was so drunk that he was spilling beer all over people. Another report indicates that one of his friends was kicked out of the bar for stealing food from other peoples' plates. As for me, I almost shit my pants in the bar, so Jon's cousin Amy (bless her soul) graciously decided to give me a ride home. This wasn't the last time Amy came through in the clutch. But anyway, back to Sunday morning.

I walked into Jon's room a little after 930am to find him still drunk from the night before and craving chicken feet (a dim sum item). I offer to go eat dim sum with him, but he refuses to leave his bed and wants to get take out dim sum. Getting take-out dim sum is like getting take-out pho noodle soup; it just doesn't seem right. So after haggling back and forth on dim sum for 15-20 minutes, a light bulb goes off in Jon's head. He remembered a conversation from the night before with Amy, who indicated that she's never eaten at Popeye's before. And what do you know? It just so happened to be Fried Chicken Sunday. The fact that I love soul food and the fact that I'm black from the waist down made it a no brainer for me to agree to this.

I'm not a fan of chicken feet.

At this point, it's about 10am and we're ready to roll out, until we realize that Popeye's doesn't even open until 11:30am. What a crock of shit. So we wait until a little after 11am, then we hop in my car and head to Kenmore Square. I was pretty excited but Jon was more excited than Steve-O at a strip club (or snowboarding, take your pick). So we pull up outside Popeye's shortly before 11:30am and I tell Jon that I'll wait in the car while he places the order, since there's no where to park. Jon then tells me to park on the side street. Again, there is no where to park. He then advises me to park in the Sovereign Bank parking lot, which is supposed to be for bank customers only. I say it's not a good idea. No problem he says, since we're only going to be in Popeye's for a few minutes. Reservedly, I oblige, but only because I want some fuckin fried chicken ASAP.



So we meet up with Amy and walk into Popeye's at 11:30am, which is the time they officially open, and they tell us that the chicken won't be ready for another 20 minutes. This was bad news #1. So as we're sitting there waiting for our order, I check up on my car every few minutes just to make sure everything is fine, which it is. Well, that is, until the 4th time I checked and noticed my car attached to a fuckin tow truck driving down the street. This is bad news #2. Finally, we get the chicken and it appears that they only have the "mild" flavor available, which is fuckin gay because I didn't even think Popeye's made that flavor. There was no cajun taste at all. This is bad news #3.

Tow truck, you got me this time!!!

There is some silver lining to this whole story though. Fortunately for Jon and I, Amy drove to Popeye's as well, so we were able to hitch a ride back home with her. Like I said, Amy coming through in the clutch again. Funny thing is, I left my parking lot driving my car and returned as a passenger in Amy's car. The parking attendants found it kind of funny. Actually, so did I.

Later on, Amy drove me to South Boston to pick up my car from this shady tow lot.

Damage: $112.07

And they only accepted cash and exact change. I thought I was going to get murdered. On the more positive note, we had people over later in the day to play poker and I was the big winner so I managed to offset most of the tow fee with my winnings.

Moral of the story: Do not listen to this man. AT ANY COST.