Steak for Sale

True Story

Last night I was approached on a street corner by a heavyset, scrappy-looking woman. The following conversation took place:

Scrappy Lady: Excuse me. I just got out of rehab. Do you have a cigarette?

Sandra O’Day: No, I don’t.

Silence.

Scrappy Lady: Do you eat steak?

Sandra O’Day: Steak?

Scrappy Lady: Yes. Do you eat steak?

Sandra O’Day: Not often.

Scrappy Lady: Oh, ‘cause I got these two steaks in this bag here, and I want to sell them. They’re very nice steaks.

She shows me the steaks.

Scrappy Lady: I lifted them from the store.

Sandra O’Day: Oh.

Silence.

Scrappy Lady: (In a sad voice.) Don’t judge me.

Sandra O'Day: I wouldn’t.

Scrappy Lady: I can tell that by looking at you! You look like you understand. Like you’ve been in trouble before.

Sandra O’Day: I have. I’m still on parole.

Silence.

Scrappy Lady & Sandra O’Day: Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

Laughter dies down.

Scrappy Lady: Know where I might be able to sell these steaks?

Sandra O’Day: I’d try outside of the bar around the corner. Lots of smokers out there who look like they enjoy steak.

Scrappy Lady: Yeah, good idea. It’s a rough bar.

Sandra O’Day: Goodnight. Good luck with your rehab.

Scrappy Lady: Good luck with your parole! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

I look forward to hearing your stories of immense personal struggle, and will continue to inspire you.