Yesterday, my wife and I were going to eat at Chik-Fil-A in the mall, and I ran into a guy who used to pick on me in junior high . . . working behind the counter. Granted, I was the kid who buttoned his (Texas Rangers) polo shirts up to the neck and who wore glasses thicker than his ears. Granted further that he is now a "team leader." Granted finally that I, too, have worked in fast food and believe that every citizen of the United States of America should work at least six months in fast food. Still, it was sweet justice. At least, the potentiality of sweet justice.
Did I ever tell you about the time that I read about another guy who used to pick on me who got arrested for meth? Q.E.D.
Extra points for anybody who can guess where the post title comes from.