Cinnamon Twists (Part 3)

With Grub Chick ready to kill,  suddenly the doctor came out.  He barely noticed me.  I tried to tell him I had brought cinnamon twists, but he walked by so quick I doubt he heard.   

I walked out dejected, back into the waiting room, only to see the entire room had almost emptied out.  My heart sank to the floor.  I knew Grub Chick wasn’t in with the doctor, and she and the commentators were now all of a sudden gone.  Most likely waiting on the other side of that door. 

I needed to get out of this situation.  Something.  Anything.  A miracle.  I scanned the few people left in the waiting room, and an old lady locked eyes with me. Those eyes had seen it all.  She shook her head.  She knew.  I knew.  We all knew.  I was about to get my ass kicked over some cinnamon twists.  There was nothing anybody could do about it. 

But wait.  Maybe there’s one thing.  I went back into the area behind the receptionist’s desk and took the cinnamon twists back.  I was thinking of  the old bait and switch.  You throw the object of a criminals desire one way and then run the other way.  That was my plan.  Walk with my head held high and throw the twists.  

I opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight.  The coast seemed clear.  I didn’t want to run because that would show fear, but I didn’t want to saunter like an idiot.  I had to be careful not to trip on my strappy sandals.  It was like dead woman walking.

No sign of the posse, I quickened my pace.  It was more like dead woman sprinting.  I started to sweat a little.  Onto the grass, over the lawn, across the street, to my car, when suddenly I heard a car honking its horn. 

My hands went onto the twists.  My peace offering, my olive branch, my ridiculous plan.  It was Her.  Grub Chick.  My Arch Enemy.  The other crazy, fighting over food that cost five bucks!  

In the distance, an engine revved.  Click, Click thank god for automatic locks.  I dove into the car making sure not to drop my twists and locked the doors just as fast.  I quickly put my key in the ignition and looked up to see what was coming.  

Grub Chick was in her car with the commentators.  We made eye contact.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the twists had fallen slightly out of my bag and were on the passenger seat.  

Safe in my car, suddenly I felt ridiculous for running.  I had been the one who stood up for myself.  I was the brave one.  Now that I was safe, I wanted to win.  

With one hand on the steering wheel, and both eyes on her car I was able to open the box of cinnamon twists.  I put my car in drive, just in case, and with one dramatic flourish I took out a cinnamon twist and bit in.  

Delicious as always.  Worth every risk.  I couldn’t help but smile.  It’s fun being crazy.  I finished my twist and flew out of my parking spot after one last look over to them.  The look of shock mixed with admiration was enjoyable.  Until we meet again Grub Chic.