CRANFORD, N.J. — Local actuary Ken Dorfinger showed amazing self-restraint by leaving a significantly large piece of chicken as the last bite of his meal, confirmed sources versed in delayed gratification.
“I’m a Cobb man. It’s the most salad for my dollar. I don’t mess around with Greek or even Chef,” Dorfinger said while sharpening every pencil at his desk to equal length. “So when I opened up my reusable Just Salad bowl and saw this motherload of a morsel, I literally moaned with delight. Wins like this don’t happen to guys like Ken Dorfinger. I strategically forked my way through the greens and carrots first. Then made quick work of the egg and smaller chicken chunks until only that rogue meat treat remained, all coated in ranch, bacon bits and blue cheese crumble, creating what I called on Yelp ‘the cobbertunity of a lifetime.’ Unless there’s a new episode of ‘Blue Bloods’ tonight, this is the highlight of my day by a country mile.”
While happy for Dorfinger, Just Salad manager Rondell Eck doubled down on the company’s hardline portion policy.
“Hey, good for this guy. But I’m livid,” Eck raged by pay phone from an off-track betting parlor. “This liberal serving of poultry is a direct violation of Just Salad protocol. We portion every shred of fucking lettuce with surgical precision. We can’t just be handing out bird like Jesus feeding the goddamn multitude. This is a business. Money doesn’t grow on trees, and last time I checked, neither does chicken. The employee responsible for this flagrant abuse of policy will have their pay docked and be reassigned to dressing duty, post-haste.”
Office temp and tantric sex practitioner Susan Timms looked past Dorfinger’s pathetically low standards, interpreting his self-restraint as an almost sensual superpower.
“Tantra is my sexual lifeforce, but watching uneventful men like Ken eat is definitely my new kink,” Timms said, while drawing a penis in her desktop zen garden. “Seeing this cuck of a company drone soul-gaze his salad and edge his way to culinary climax did exciting, unmentionable things to my chakra. Let’s just say I’ll never look at a piece of processed chicken the same way again.”
At press time, Dorfinger’s lunch triumph was quickly ruined after discovering his last bite was technically the sad stale pita triangle he forgot at the bottom of the takeout bag.
Photo by Fran Krause.