The Fortune Cookie

THE FORTUNE COOKIE
         

         "SING AND REJOICE; FORTUNE IS SMILING ON YOU."  I read the magical words as the tiny paper fell from the broken fortune cookie.  I had decided to take my assistant manager, Latoya, out to our favorite Chinese restaurant "Hong Kong House" to celebrate our recent exceptional health inspection of a 98.5.
         "What does it say Charles?” Latoya asked, twiddling on her newly curled braids that all the fashionable black girls were wearing. She glanced down at my fortune, her long dangling earrings sparkling under the lights.
         "Here, read it," I said as I handed her the crumpled white paper with tiny red letters. She laughed loudly as she poked at her pepper steak and broccoli. "I wonder what wonderful thing will happen to you, maybe you will be the next big lottery winner."
         "Not likely," I said, "the only thing I have played are scratch off cards, and I won $2.00."
         Latoya reached over to unwrap her fortune cookie. She cracked it open and the paper fell out. She read the tiny slip of paper and an evil smile came across her face. "Here Charles, read this," she said.
         "YOU WILL MEET A HANDSOME NEW STRANGER", was written on the tiny paper. Latoya rolled her eyes and chuckled. "Better hide this from PJ," she said as she folded the paper up and placed it in her designer purse. Her husband was a large intimidating police officer and I don't think he would take too kindly to a handsome new stranger.
         I was about to throw away the fortune, like the hundreds of others I had received over the years; but this one was different. A strange feeling came over me, like a spell that one of the witches on "Charmed" had placed on me. But this time it was a good spell.
         I went home and taped the fortune on my bathroom mirror, in hopes that it would inspire me and give me luck.
The week passed by quickly and I still did not find good fortune. I was about to give up on the fortune, when Tuesday, February 27th arrived. I felt as if the day was going to be a bad one. I had to be at work at 5am, which was a fate worse than death. I glanced up at the fortune on the bathroom mirror, as I brushed my hair. I was going to toss it in the trash, when I changed my mind and crammed it in my coat pocket  Somehow I felt that maybe it would bring me luck. I quickly dressed and headed off to work. The Hardees truck was coming and it was loaded down with 400 pieces of product in anticipation of the 10,000 Hardees coupons that were going to be flooding the mailboxes of every citizen in Halifax County.
         I arrived at work on time and the truck was waiting for me. "HUM, that's very strange, the truck is always late," I thought as I entered the brightly lit restaurant. My two workers were on time and ready to work. Another small miracle had occurred. The unloading of the truck flew by. Everything was smooth and organized. I soon began preparing for my big inspection by the Regional Director and Vice President of our district. Business was a little chaotic, but the very moment the two bigwigs arrived, all business seemed to slow down to a manageable pace. I rejoiced!
         My inspection went gloriously. They gave me a glowing report that my operation was top notch and I was doing an excellent job. I felt like I had just won an academy award for my work in a motion picture. The rest of the morning went well and my district manager was so pleased with the inspection, she told me I could leave early. Another small miracle had occurred.
         I left promptly at 2pm and headed home for a short nap. On the way home my Check Engine light came on. I felt my stomach tighten up as my brain filled with horrible thoughts of my engine blowing up and thousands of dollars of repairs. I arrived home and called the local firestone. The manager said that it would be $100 just to hook up the computer to the truck to see what was wrong with it. I told him I would get back with him. Then I remembered how Latoya had told me about her mechanic, and how affordable he was. I quickly phoned her and she called her mechanic. He agreed to check the truck out for free! I was amazed. I made an appointment that afternoon. Then I lay down and had a wonderful nap filled with vivid dreams of happy times. I awoke refreshed and energized.
         I had a dentist appointment at 4:15 pm, and it was 4:04 already, so I jumped into the truck and flew down highway 158, doing about 60 mph. There was nobody on the roads; no 80 year old women driving 35, no tractors or combines creeping along at 20, and no worn out housewives swerving while screaming at their unruly rug rats in the back seat. The road was virtually empty!
         I arrived at the dentist office and stepped inside. The dental technician waved at me to step towards one of the many rooms in the back. I didn't even have to sit in the waiting room and read "Good Housekeeping." It was magical.
         The Dental technician was a very bubbly blonde woman, in her late 40's. She had a curly hairdo with a little too much gel, but she still looked stylish. "We haven't seen you in months," she said, "it's another year and you know what that means, X-RAY TIME!"
         She seemed to delight in torturing me with the awful x-rays. I hated holding the T-shaped piece of cardboard between my teeth as she placed the radiation proof blanket across my chest. "Smile wide," she said as she left the room and blasted my face with millions of toxic radioactive waves. I gagged as she removed the nasty cardboard from my mouth.
         "Now for the other side," she gleefully said. The cardboard tasted like the wooden stick at the bottom of a Popsicle, when you accidentally licked it. I gagged once more. Soon my x-rays were done and she began cleaning my teeth. Almost every dentist visit she would scold me about the tarter build up on my teeth, but not this visit. She said my teeth looked better than ever. When she asked me how often I flossed, I jokingly said, "I floss religiously, every Christmas and Easter."
She seemed to not get the joke. She chatted away about her husband and his many problems managing a local Food Lion. Often she would ask my opinion while she held my mouth open and was grinding away with her needle sharp instruments. I could only muffle a quiet, "Uh huh."
         Finally, she was done. She squirted some water in my mouth, then the tiny suction device, and told me to close my lips. The vacuum sucked out all the debris and most of my saliva. I was sitting there with dry mouth, when my dentist walked in with my x-rays. Once again, my mind raced back to my childhood and the many cavities that I had suffered through. I felt my hands grow cold and clammy as he carefully scanned my x-rays, tooth by tooth. I pictured a huge drill coming straight at my mouth and the dentist accidentally slipping, gashing me in the gums.
         "Well Mr. Hockaday," he said, "your teeth look great, no cavities here."  I felt as if I were having an out of body experience. I was floating over the dentist chair looking down and with those few short words, my spirit flew back into my body. "Your teeth look much cleaner than usual, keep up the good work," he professionally said.
         I happily left the dentist office, running my tongue across my newly cleaned teeth. All of a sudden my stomach started rumbling; not just tiny rumbles, but a loud gurgling, starving, ravenous rumble. I needed food now!
         I decided that due to lack of time, I would head to the Sonic. The last time i ate there I had gotten a foot long hotdog, which tasted like beef flavored plastic. It was covered with runny, bland- tasting burnt chilly. My fries had been soggy and Luke warm and my unsweetened tea was sweetened. During my quick lunch that day, I had accidentally poked a hole through the bottom of the Styrofoam cup, drowning my family jewels with ice-cold tea. Needless to say, it was a very bad experience.
         But, being the optimistic person that I am, I decided to give Sonic one more try. I ordered the #2. The burger arrived quickly and was steaming hot.  It was juicy, with melted cheese dripping onto the paper. The dill pickles were garlicky and sour, just the way I liked them. My fries were crisp and piping hot with just enough salt. Even my tea was perfect; unsweetened and ice cold. I hurriedly ate, relishing the delicious burger. A waitress walked by, offering a smile and additional condiments. My experience could not have been more perfect. THIS time I avoided jamming my straw into the cup, so I avoided another drenching like last time. I tossed my trash into the nearby trashcan and headed to the mechanic to check out my engine light problem. The garage was just around the corner and I rolled up to the back door. A young black guy with a backwards-turned baseball cap walked over to my truck.
         "Can I help you," he asked,
         "Yes, Latoya called you about my truck. She said you could check out my engine light problem," I said, as I pointed to the annoying yellow light on my dash panel.
         "Sure, no problem," he said, as he ran into the garage to retrieve a tiny little box he called an Onboard Diagnostic something.
         "Do I need to open the hood? I asked.
         "Nope, just the door." He reached under my steering wheel and plugged one of the wires into some hole and cut on the box. A number flashed onto the top of the box. The whole process took about 3 seconds! I could not believe that Firestone was going to charge me $100 for something that took 3 seconds!
         "It's just a sensor that's clogged, no big deal," he said. "The part costs $75 and with labor it will be about $100.
         A sense of relief came over me. Once again, the Gods were smiling on me. I made an appointment for the next afternoon, and then glanced at my watch. It was 5:20. My oil was past due for changing, and Valvoline was close by. If only I could arrive with nobody else in front of me, I would not be late for my class at college.
         I felt lucky, so I drove to valvoline. One car was parked ahead of me. I pulled behind the car and waited. About 5 seconds passed, then the car pulled out. I pulled into the garage.
         "Can I help you?” the mechanic asked.
         "Just an oil and filter change," I said as I fumbled through the glove compartment, looking for my $19.95 coupon.
I soon located it and handed it to the mechanic. "Here's my coupon," I said, proud that I would save about 7 bucks on the oil change. The oil change went smoothly and the mechanic came over to my side of my truck. "Everything looks good, just need to change your air filter," he said, waving the grimy, dusty filter in the air.
         "Sure, go ahead," I said, knowing full well that he would charge me $11.00 for a filter I could buy at Walmart for $5.00. I didn't care; I had just saved $7.00 with the coupon. I paid the bill and left quickly, heading for my class.
         Tonight would be the night when my classmates would critique my poem, “The Heart’s Door”. My last story about my 21st birthday had met with mixed criticism. A few thought it was interesting and touching, while others nicely told me it was a "load of crap." I was a little worried that this poem would be trashed as sentimental rubbish, and my dreams of becoming a famous writer would go up in smoke. I would retire from Hardees, a bitter old worn out alcoholic with too many cats; never fulfilling the vow I made to my English teacher. I had written the poem in the 10th grade and my obese teacher loved it, calling it a "miraculous bit of metaphor" She made me vow to have it published some day. I had agreed.
         I headed up the staircase, running towards the classroom. Most everyone was already there. Mrs. Susco was taking names down on her yellow roll sheet. She fumbled through her papers and announced that we had several poems to workshop tonight. She soon announced that we would be going over my poem, "The Heart's Door."
         I had hurriedly typed the poem at work about 15 minute's before class, and in my haste, I forgot to put the title at the top of the paper. I had to quickly write out the title in blue ink on the 11 copies I had to pass out. I wondered if anyone would comment on my error.
         "Who wants to go first?" Mrs. Susco said, as she glanced about the circle of students. I suddenly felt panicked. I began to imagine myself standing on the stage of American Idol. I had just finished singing a horrific rendition of "I Will Always Love You" by Whitney Houston. I was sweating profusely as I stared at the 3 judges sitting there. Randy Jackson was shaking his head, "Dude, it's just not good," he would say, shaking his head, "I'm just not feeling it, it was pretty bad, Dawg.
         Next would be Paula Abdul, she would take a sip from her coke cup and look at me, smiling that million dollar smile.
I could tell she was trying to be kind, in spite of my miserable performance. "Charles, I know you have talent, but you just picked the wrong song sweetie. I'm sorry; I have to agree with Randy.
         Next would be Simon Cowell. He would have an evil look on his face. He would begin speaking in his thick British accent. "Charles,
I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you. It was utterly horrible!  You sounded like a heroin-addicted crackwhore in withdrawal giving birth to a screaming 8-pound baby. I'm very sorry."
         Suddenly Alma, talking about my poem, awakened me from my dream. She spoke lovingly about my poem, describing my work as being heartfelt. She commented how she enjoyed my writing because it was from the heart. I began to feel a sense of relief. I only had to listen to nine more students critique the poem.. Next up was 'Q", the somewhat deranged young man who wrote stories about serial killers, psychotic, murderous whores, and hate filled lesbians with huge strap on dildoes. I could not wait to hear his comments.
         Surprisingly he liked the poem, saying that it was a nice departure from my typical writings of humorous memoirs. He said he enjoyed the comparisons. Next was Pamela. She had written several lovely flowing works of poetry and I welcomed her insight. She commented that she too liked it and enjoyed the metaphors.
         I began to feel better. Next up were the sisters that sat together. Valeria and Beverly both chimed in together that they thought it was a good use of metaphor.. They both commented that they liked it, but it was too masculine. They wished I had used softer words. Soon a classroom discussion of masculine versus feminine erupted. I couldn't believe that my little simple poem had evoked so much discussion.
         The next person was Alana, who I remembered had written a vivid story of life as a crack dealer, called "chapter One." She seemed to enjoy it also. She spoke very highly of the poem. The next comments came from "Special". I remembered her name because it was a special name. She had written a poem about her hard life and how her son gave her flowers. I had thought it was very good. She too made good comments about my poem.
I was feeling better and better.
         Next came Michael, who had written the amazing story about the dead baby in the jar. He commented that I had good use of extended metaphor and said that maybe it should be a little longer. Sitting beside him was Justin, his head hanging down, pretending to be resting, while actually he was busily text messaging on his cell phone.
         "Justin, you're next'" said Mrs. Susco. He looked up nervously, lost in thought. Justin was definitely not into the class. He would often rush into class late, his hair sticking straight up on top of his head. I imagined him walking across the parking lot when a freak tornado swooped him up, twirling him around and around then safely depositing him down at the front door to HCC, his unkempt hair being the only sign of the freak tornado.
         "I liked it," he said. This was his standard answer about every piece of writing, whether he read it or not. He said that it was good and agreed with Michael's comments. Next was Antonio. He had a glazed look in his eyes like he had smoked a little wacky tobacky before class. He said that he had left all his papers at home, but agreed that he enjoyed my previous work.
         Finally, Mrs. Susco made her comments. She really liked it. She said it was a great use of metaphors and had a strong finish. She offered a few helpful hints on improving it, but overall she was pleased. I felt very proud and relieved.
         The rest of the poems were all very well received and there was not a bad one in the bunch. Several people commented on the good quality of the poetry. The class soon ended and we all headed down the long, dark hallway towards the stairs. As I prepared to exit the building, I fumbled in my coat pocket for my keys. I felt of a tiny piece of paper. I pulled it out and it was my fortune from the fortune cookie. SING AND REJOICE; FORTUNE IS SMILING ON YOU. I smiled as I read the miraculous words. I realized that the tiny piece of paper was not speaking about money and riches; it was about life and how amazing and lucky I truly was. Fortune had finally smiled on me.