Meditation, a Whopper, and Four Words of Wisdom: Make Good Choices

Tonight, I went to a meditation meeting.

It’s a new meeting, and this was my first time attending. I’d heard awesome things about it; I knew the person guiding the group, and after the last few months—and especially the last week—I figured, why not?

I could probably use a little more conscious contact with the Spirit in the Fourth Dimension to help me be of maximum use to all humanity.

Apparently, immediately afterward, humanity was waiting for me at Burger King.

The meeting ended at 8:00 p.m., which was already way past dinner for me. I hadn’t eaten lunch either.

Correction.

I had half of a King Size Kit Kat bar for lunch.

So, nutritionally speaking, I was thriving.

I was going to make my usual Harris Teeter stop, but then I saw Burger King.

The King was calling.

I safely crossed two lanes of traffic to make the left because, at that particular moment, I wanted to have it my way.

I ordered a Whopper Jr., fries, and—of course—a Coke Zero. I also ordered a Rodeo Burger because I love the onion rings and BBQ sauce combo.

I was sitting there waiting for my food when I heard someone yelling.

I looked ahead, and this dude was waving his hands, obviously trying to get my attention.

I don’t remember everything he said before this, but I definitely heard:

“I just got out of the pen, and I’m hungry.”

I assumed by “the pen,” he meant prison.

Well.

Welcome back to society. Apparently, I was his Burger King ambassador.

The timing was also interesting.

I had recently talked with Sam Taylor (https://www.facebook.com/sam.peralta.18041), someone I previously led on a Learning & Development team, about my dating adventures—including the woman who wanted help paying her rent and then, after one date, her phone bill.

Sam and I talked about something we both tend to do: we don’t typically hand people money, but we’re willing to buy something they need.

That has generally been one of my boundaries.

I’ve also had a roommate who frequently said:

“I’m one paycheck from being homeless.”

I’ve never forgotten that.

I get it.

Part of my recovery is trying to be useful to other people while still maintaining boundaries.

So I told the guy I’d buy him something to eat.

I got my meal and tried to get the attention of the Burger King drive-thru dudes, who, by the way, were really nice.

I asked if I could order another meal.

Nope.

Apparently, once I reached the window, the sacred Burger King ordering process couldn't be disturbed.

I had to drive around again.

That seemed ridiculous.

But okay.

I asked the guy what he wanted to drink.

“Sprite.”

I told him:

“Don’t move. I have to drive around again.”

He started thanking me and told me he had a gift for me.

I immediately said:

“It’s all good, sir. No gift.”

Meanwhile, inside my head, several possibilities were being considered as to exactly what kind of “gift” a guy who had just gotten out of the pen might be planning to give me.

I decided I was good.

No gift necessary.

I drove around Burger King again, ordered him a Whopper meal with a Sprite, paid, got the food, and pulled forward to hand it to him.

He thanked me and told me he would “pay me back on the back end.”

I’m pretty sure I’m never going to see this guy again.

And that’s okay.

I didn’t buy him dinner because I expected him to pay me back.

Before I drove away, I left him with four words:

“Make good choices.”

He looked at me and said:

“Those are some words of wisdom. Make good choices.”

I wished him luck and drove away.

Then I ate my fries.

For me, that was the unexpected lesson at the end of tonight’s meditation.

I didn’t solve someone’s life. I didn’t give away everything I had. I didn’t abandon my boundaries.

I just bought a hungry stranger a Whopper and a Sprite.

I don’t know if he’ll remember the meal or those four words. I don’t know what happens next in his life.

I only know that tonight, he wasn’t hungry.

And tonight, I received another reminder that being of service doesn’t always happen where I expect it.

Sometimes I find the Spirit in the Fourth Dimension through meditation.

And sometimes...

I find it in the Burger King drive-thru.

I had it my way.

And hopefully, both of us will make good choices.

Wait… Coke Zero Is Health Food Now?

I recently came across a Facebook video with what might be the best medical advice I’ve ever heard.

Watch the Facebook video here

The video says one way to help with constipation from GLP-1 medications is to drink Coke Zero, and the nutritionist attributes the effect to phosphorus.

My immediate reaction:

FANTASTIC!

Finally, something I’ve been training for my entire life.

Coke Zero is already one of my staple foods. I take Ozempic, and constipation can be one of the side effects.

So when somebody tells me my Coke Zero habit might actually have a purpose, naturally I'm thinking:

Doctor, should I increase my prescription from Large to Extra Large?

And somewhere at Coca-Cola headquarters, an executive just felt a disturbance in the Force.

There Is One Tiny Problem…

I couldn't independently verify the video's claim that the phosphorus in Coke Zero is an established treatment for GLP-1 constipation.

So, sadly, I'm not declaring Coke Zero a medication.

I'm merely saying that if future scientific research concludes that it is...

I was an early adopter.

And yes, before anyone reminds me about phosphorus and kidney disease—thank you for the reminder.

With my kidney situation, I already have to pay attention to phosphorus. I use a phosphate binder to hopefully help keep my phosphorus levels in line.

So this is definitely not me recommending that anyone start pounding Coke Zero as a medical treatment.

This is me discovering a video that seemingly gave my existing Coke Zero habit a scientific-sounding excuse and thinking:

FINALLY. MY MOMENT HAS ARRIVED.

Until then, I'll continue enjoying Coke Zero for the same reason I always have:

I just really like Coke Zero.

And if my consumption happens to help The Coca-Cola Company stock along the way?

You're welcome, shareholders.

I'm doing my part. One bottle at a time. 😂🥤

It’s 10 PM. I Shouldn’t Be Eating This. But the Food Cart Called Me.

It's 10:00 PM in New York City.

I've had a long day.

I've eaten plenty.

I'm back at the hotel.

The responsible thing to do would be to drink some water, get into bed, and call it a night.

There was just one problem.

The food cart outside my hotel was calling me.

And I don't mean figuratively.

I walked outside, and I'm pretty sure I heard:

"Niel... Niiiiiel... come get some chicken and lamb over rice..."

What was I supposed to do?

Ignore it?

That would be rude.

🌃 This Is New York Street Food

The cart has exactly what you'd expect from a New York City street food cart:

Chicken over rice.

Lamb over rice.

Falafel over rice.

Gyros.

Hot dogs.

And enough other options displayed on the side of the cart to make you stand there staring at the menu much longer than necessary.

But I knew what I wanted.

Chicken and lamb over saffron rice.

Add the lettuce.

Add the tomatoes.

And absolutely give me the white sauce.

Hot sauce?

Nope.

I've learned that lesson before.

My stomach and hot sauce have a complicated relationship. Actually, that's being generous.

My stomach has clearly communicated its boundaries.

I'm respecting them.

💰 Wait... That's the Price?!

Then came the biggest surprise of the night.

The entire plate was just over $10.

In.

New. York. City.

Are you kidding me?

I was fully prepared for the guy to tell me it was $15. Maybe more.

It's 10 PM. I'm hungry. I'm in New York. He has possession of the chicken and lamb.

He has all the negotiating power.

Instead, just over ten bucks.

At that price, I happily added another 20% tip for the guy working the cart.

And somehow this gets even more ridiculous.

Earlier, I bought two bottles of Coke Zero from the hotel.

Almost $8.

Let me make sure I understand the economics here:

🥤 Two Coke Zeros from the hotel: almost $8

🍗🐑 A giant container of chicken AND lamb over saffron rice, with lettuce, tomato and white sauce from a New York City street cart: just over $10

Someone, please explain this to me.

Actually, don't.

I don't want anyone investigating and telling the food-cart guy he needs to raise his prices.

🤤 And Was It Worth Eating at 10 PM?

Look at the picture.

You already know the answer.

Chicken.

Lamb.

Saffron rice.

Lettuce.

Tomatoes.

White sauce everywhere.

No hot sauce because I would like to enjoy the rest of my trip without my digestive system filing a formal complaint.

And it is amazing.

Was eating this at 10 PM a good decision?

Nutritionally?

Probably not.

Financially?

ABSOLUTELY.

Spiritually?

I'm going with yes.

After a day of hanging out with friends and family, eating New York backyard food, missing my Broadway show because I was having too much fun, and riding through Queens at night, this feels like the appropriate ending.

Tomorrow I'll worry about responsible eating.

Tonight?

The cart called.

I answered.

And for just over $10 in New York City, I'm very glad I did.

The Powerball Department Is Now Open: 120 Tickets, 12 Brothers, and the Niel Tax™

I put together a lot more than just buying 120 Powerball tickets this week.

Somewhere between spreadsheets, probability calculations, payout estimates, tax assumptions, and trying to explain to a group of fraternity brothers why $4 divided by 12 doesn't make anyone rich, I may have accidentally become the Chief Financial Officer of the Tau Epsilon Phi Lottery Department.

The easy part is collecting everyone's $20.

The hard part is answering the important questions.

“What are our odds?”

With 120 unique tickets:

• Jackpot: about 1 in 2,435,012

• Percentage chance: 0.0000411%

• Any prize: approximately 99.27%

• Chance of winning nothing: approximately 0.73%

Then came the inevitable follow-up.

“What happens if we actually win?”

Now we're talking.

Using the current estimated $856 million advertised jackpot and an estimated $372 million cash option, with 12 brothers, everyone would receive approximately:

Prize Estimated Take-Home Per Brother

Jackpot $17.67 million

$1,000,000 $47,500

$50,000 $2,375

$100 $4.75

Then I looked at the remaining prize tiers.

A $7 prize split twelve ways is...

58 cents.

A $4 prize?

33 cents.

Unfortunately, Zelle has one tiny flaw in its business model:

It won't let me send you 33 cents.

Therefore, after careful consultation with absolutely nobody, I have created what will forever be known as...

The Niel Tax™

Any prize that works out to less than $1 per participant will be retained by the Lottery Commissioner — me — as a convenience fee for:

• Collecting everyone's money

• Buying the tickets

• Tracking the numbers

• Calculating the odds

• Estimating federal and South Carolina taxes

• Explaining for the fifteenth time that “1 in 2.4 million” is actually pretty good compared to one ticket

• And, perhaps most importantly, avoiding the embarrassment of sending eleven separate Zelle payments for 33 cents

Think of it as an administrative processing fee.

Or a beverage fund.

Or reimbursement for the gas it takes to drive to Harris Teeter while getting strange looks from the cashier after buying what appears to be enough lottery tickets to finance a small nation.

If we win the jackpot, I promise to waive the Niel Tax.

If we win $4...

Well...

Congratulations.

I just earned another Coke Zero.

Good luck, Lotto Dudes.

Somebody has to win.

I Was Offended… Apparently I’m a Senior Now

Today, I was offended.

Not by politics.

Not by social media.

Not even by hospital cafeteria coffee.

No… I was personally attacked by kindness.

I stopped by Harris Teeter on Ben Sawyer in Mount Pleasant to grab lunch before heading to the hospital to spend time with my mom. It wasn’t exactly a gourmet feast—a sandwich, a Coke Zero, a KitKat, and yes… a chocolate chip cookie.

Before anyone starts judging my nutritional choices, remember… hospitals burn emotional calories.

I rolled up to the self-checkout and hadn’t even entered my alternate ID or scanned my first item when a very pleasant Harris Teeter employee walked over and said:

“Let me give you an additional discount.”

Now we’re talking!

I’m thinking maybe it’s Customer Appreciation Day.

Maybe they liked my smile.

Maybe they recognized my dazzling personality.

I happily started scanning each item while the self-checkout AI watched me like I was starring in CSI: Grocery Store. Every beep felt like I was proving my innocence.

Finally, I hit Pay.

That’s when I saw it.

Senior Discount.

…Excuse me?

Senior?

Who?

Me?

Are you absolutely serious?

I thought I looked pretty good for my age. Half Asian genes are supposed to buy you extra time before aging catches up. We don’t gently age—we apparently hit the wall decades later… and then gravity just wins in one spectacular weekend.

Sure, I qualify for an AARP membership.

But I always viewed that as more of a suggestion than an identity.

Now I’m wondering if I should start saying things like, “Back in my day…”

Should I begin eating dinner at 4:15?

Am I required to complain about gas prices and the weather?

Should I start carrying hard candy in my pockets?

I guess the next logical step is downloading the OurTime dating app.

Apparently, society has spoken.

On the bright side…

If someone wants to save me money because they think I’ve earned enough birthdays, who am I to argue?

I’ll take the discount.

But I’m still recovering emotionally.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go yell at some kids to stay off my lawn.

…The lawn I don’t even have.

Getting older is weird.

At least the Coke Zero was still full price.