Waiting for a Wenzel

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You are like Mr. Bean in the church episode trying to stay up. But sadder.


Happier deep inside because you're salivating a little bit at the thought of this Wenzel. Capital W.



You start an episode of the office but your heart is not in it. Andy is not being Andy, Dwight doesn't do his best Dwight, because they're hungry too. Everything is hungry.

Suddenly, you remember something: you ordered it with ranch sauce. The runway's pre-gustative configuration shifts, and you're so ready, but the phone is desperately silent. You raise the volume to reassure yourself that the phone is being responsive, that there's no angry man waiting for you downstairs waiting to leave.


Your suitemate comes in, time for rock paper scissors. You really don't want to go downstairs, it's cold. You play with all the courage you have; first to three. Not two out of three. Just making sure no one uses a loophole or something.

You win 3-0, not even one tie. Now you're sitting in your chair, counting the seconds.


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That was good. Brush teeth, wash hands, sleep.