I couldn’t look my practical turkey dinner straight in the gravy pile. So instead, I turned my attention to the poor souls around me. There were random people eating solo, likely drifters and grifters, dodging the law and looking for a place to post up for a few hours. Several families littered the joint, with children playing "duck, duck, goose" around the buffet tables, as their parents buried their heads in their hands, obviously feeling just as bad as I did.
Right next to us, an elderly couple in the Western Pennsylvania uniform of Carhartt, camo, and Wranglers sat in silence, eating the same watered-down turkey dinner I had just ordered. This is where shit got real. I was one of them now -- the kind of person who needed to go out and buy Thanksgiving dinner. I hadn’t felt like a bigger failure since I ironically misspelled the word “failure” in my second-grade spelling bee. Seriously though, how did they include that word in a grade-school spelling bee?