A Revisit

Thank you again, Irene C., SoMa, San Francisco, CA for your review of Jollibee in Alexandria, VA.

This isn’t an error; we’ve been here before. If you missed it, here is last week’s review of a review. If you’re too lazy to read it, I implied that someone in Irene C.’s family, specifically the person who picked up the food that night, ate the two “missing” pieces of chicken and blamed it on the restaurant which, in my mind, is a completely reasonable assumption. But this whole week I’ve had this nagging feeling that I might have missed something. 

As I was driving by the one fast-food restaurant I frequent, I thought of what I’d said about how the person picking up the food always snacks on the communal fries on the way home and then it hit me! I’m usually that person, making me the one who has to pretend like the restaurant ripped us off. Which can only mean one thing: It was YOU, Irene C. YOU ate the chicken. It’s so obvious, I’m embarrassed it took me this long to realize. 

I’m impressed and also mildly terrified by your commitment. Were I ever to be called out by my family, I would very quickly admit that Yes, unfortunately, it was me. Yes, I know, I’m a selfish, greedy fuck with no self-control - WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! But you, Irene C., have truly played the long game you even wrote a review blaming the restaurant! All so you could have two pieces of what I’ve heard is pretty mediocre chicken to yourself. 

What other restaurants have conveniently miscalculated or - dare I say - “forgotten” an entire dish of your order? I want to try this with the smoked salmon pizza from Spago! KIDDING. My husband doesn’t eat salmon so I’m pretty sure his only reaction would be “Why do you think that we’re rich?” 

What else are you lying to your family about, Irene C.? Is that even your real name? Or are you actually Irina, a Russian sleeper agent waiting for orders? Your family remaining more clueless about this than the alleged ineptitude of Jollibee. Why would you expose yourself this way? You know better.

But listen, I watch a lot of Dateline, and the murderer is always the person who waltzes into the police station a day or two after the crime, offering to "help" because they're a "friend" of the victim and have just enough information to offer that conveniently exonerates them. So... watch yourself out there.

One out of five stars.

See you next Tuesday... Irina.