The Unfortunate Cookie

Recently I dined at somewhat of a gourmet Chinese eatery, one that many know by the name of Pei Wei, but one that I can’t help but think of as, “the P.F. Chang outlet.” I don’t want to believe that Pei Wei gets the slightly deformed, off-colored, not-quite chicken products passed down from their big brother, P.F., but if they don’t, then why does P.W. serve the same food at half the price? I could buy a pair of socks from Nordstrom Rack and be satisfied with the amount I pay, but at the end of the day I’ll have to live with the fact that perhaps I’m getting 2 right-footed socks instead of the normal, 1 left and 1 right. But I digress. In the end, my queries fail to outweigh my desire for affordable rations and fashions, and so I continue to eat and shop wherever my grad school budget allows.

Now, anyone familiar with Pei Wei is probably keen on the fact that one’s fortune cookie intake is not monitored. Rather, a never-ending stack lays perfectly accessible, smack dab in the middle of the fountain drinks and silverware, in much the same way that anti-socialites leave huge bowls of candy unattended on their doorsteps during Halloween. Thanks for the candy, but you’re hurting my feelings by not answering the door, not to mention that you’re missing out on the very essence of Halloween, which completely and utterly revolves around the costume. You need to know that there are kids and grown-folks alike standing right outside your door, with strong desires to show off whatever hideous attire we’ve chosen for the evening in order to live out a once a year fantasy. Get off the couch and marvel at our creativeness, Mr. Antisocial. But again I digress. And to be clear, I am not complaining about the plethora of fortune cookies at this establishment. In fact, I am a huge fan of the whole idea and personally take full advantage of the situation on any given visit. So naturally this one was no different.

I ordered orange peel chicken, hopeful that I would receive a high quality, antibacterial and steroid free, naturally fed, cagelessly raised bird in exchange for close to $7.50. I grabbed my silverware, filled my cup with chai tea and grabbed a handful of fortune cookies. I hesitated towards a table, fighting the urge to fill my purse with enough cookies to last a couple of weeks. I took a seat and decided to have 2 cookies as an appetizer while waiting for my main course. As anyone would be, I was thrilled to open both cookies to find fortunes related to money: “You will receive an unexpected sum of money within the year,” … “ Money will soon flow to you in abundance, be ready.” I was ready already. Content with my fortunes I enjoyed my meal and after a bit asked the waiter to bag my leftovers. He did so and I left feeling full and confident about my financial future. Throughout the day I had a fortune cookie here, another there, and was delighted at the fact that 4 of the 6 I ate that day all hinted at the prospect of mo’ money.

The next day I enjoyed my leftovers for lunch and to my surprise found that the waiter had thrown in another fortune cookie as a kind gesture. He had also followed me to work when I left the restaurant, and in what my boss deemed a creepy and stalker-like fashion, asked me out. No matter. I was now appreciative of his attentiveness and eagerness to please me. Dessert! I opened it with slight arrogance, as if I knew it would be about money. Sure enough it read, “You will soon inherit a large sum of money.” At first glance, I was pleased, but then I began to ponder the implications of such a fortune…at least for me. I logically concluded that in order to inherit something, someone must first die. This fortune would be quite suitable for someone who has a rich auntie (whom they’ve never met) living on the other side of the world. To me though it was more of a threat, because I can only think of one person in my life who would include me in her will and have something substantial to show for it-my mom. I too have a rich auntie, but I’m pretty sure I’d be the last on her list to receive an inheritance for several reasons, namely because I’m sure she’s figured out by now that I’ve dated outside my race and that I'm not a hard core republican. I omitted such details in our conversations on the off chance that I might at least be mentioned in her will, but I’m a horrible liar. Needless to say, the likelihood of my coming into money on account of my great ol’ aunt is all but gone. All of my grandparents are deceased, so my mom is pretty much all I’ve got.

Naturally I decided against eating the fortune cookie. Instead, I called my mom to make sure she was feeling ok and wasn’t hiding any known health issues from me. I told her to be careful, hung up the phone and immediately composed a letter addressed to the chairman and CEO of PFChang/Pei Wei, Rick Federico, telling him about my experience and letting him know that I expect to be fully compensated for my distress and grief. I haven’t yet heard back from him, but any day now I’m expecting a year’s supply of fortune cookies, hand picked with exceptional fortunes, along with a pass for unlimited free dinners at that big brother restaurant where I will be promptly greeted by name while being ushered directly to a table and served the highest grade of chicken known to man. Maybe it won’t turn out to be such an unfortunate cookie after all