Next up - a second D.Q. (yeah, you already know what those initials stand for): unaccountably not as friendly nor as well-kept as the first. The manager, a pimply boy with an I'm pissed that this is the best job I could find attitude, got my order wrong and looked vaguely irritated when I pointed it out. Left the place feeling slightly peeved myself, so I drove back across town to D.Q. #1 and spent some time getting acquainted with the manager over a couple of ice cream sundaes. Her name's Beatrice, and she's been working at the place for three years.

"Should probably quit," she said at one point. "When I started, I was a size fourteen. But something about being 'round all this good-smelling food, you know?" She shrugged, one fat woman to another, acknowledging our commonality, and in that moment I had a brainstorm.

Bea, I opened, you got any of your old clothes?

She's kept 'em, of course, though at her present size (34-36), it's unlikely she'll be wearing any of 'em again. Maybe I could come over, I offered, buy some of your smaller outfits. She grinned, and we made a date for tomorrow morning. It'll be nice to have a broader selection of casuals. Tripper's got me going to another women's wear shoppe, but something tells me that I should be holding off on that trip 'til the end of the week.

10/10/01
[2:00 p.m.]

For lunch, I checked the first restaurant off my assignment sheet: a small-town establishment called (I'm tired of all these initials) Oaktown Buffet. Basic plain-eatin' small-town dining. Fanciest thing you can say about the selection is that it's kept warm and the dollop on top of the tapioca tastes like real cream. Lots of healthy looking farmers in the place, and no one gave me a second glance when I returned to the buffet a fourth time.

I'm a bit surprised to see a place like this even paying for my services. Seems like their base clientele is regular enough to be able to tell management when the food & service are below standards. But I guess even a small-town beanery like this occasionally feels the need for outside evaluation. The joint wasn't bad for what it offered, but I wish they'd put their tapioca in a larger bowl.

My contest winnings arrived today already, incidentally. Pretty funny: the prize was supposed to be a variety pack of undergarments. It is, but each package of undergarments is a different size! Quite a range, too - from my current panty size to ones exceeding anything the store sells in the way of dresses or other outerwear. (Apparently, once you reach a certain weight, all you do is lounge around the house in your underwear, eating bonbons.) What am I supposed to do with a pair of 10XL underwear?

10/10/01
[7:01 a.m.]

Got my second email from Ample Stuffer this a.m., and he's a bit put out with me. "You say that your'e [sic] gaining weight," he writes, "but you dont [double sic] offer anything concreat to support this. I think your'e a tease!"

Really, AS?

Jeez, what a classy guy. But, hey, I'll tell you what, buddy. You send me your penis measurement - erect and flaccid - and perhaps I'll consider pulling out my tape measure.

I'm waiting.