Red Hot Mutha'

So I open my purse today to pull out my lunch. I always put it in a blue Wegman's bag and then stick it in the fridge. Right before I walk out the door in the morning, I pull it out of the fridge and put it in my purse. No big deal. Today I reach in to pull it out, and it's cold and squishy. I consider that odd, because I packed a can of ready-made chicken salad and crackers, an orange, a fresca and a bottle of water. (I'm doing the low-carb thing during the week so I'm trying to lay off the bread. No more sammedges for a while!) I poke at it again. Did my orange get crushed in the car this morning? It begins to leak and then I notice that it's not orange juice at all. Raw chicken juice oozes out of a hole in the bag, creating a bacterial nightmare within my purse. I realize that in my haste to leave, I've grabbed the blue Wegman's bag that held the slowly defrosting chicken for tonight's dinner. It's still wrapped neatly in its white butcher paper. I bury it beneath bits of papier-mache soaked newspaper in my trashcan, after a brief pondering of the five-second-rule, and if it applies in this particular situation.I decide to spend four dollars and go out and get more chicken later this evening. (Sorry, Steve.)
I have to eat lunch because of the whole stupid low blood sugar thing, so I drive down to the Grab-n-Go to find something. I should've known that a place called Grab-n-Go wouldn't have fresh fruit. On the way to pay for my meager and marginally disgusting Breakfast Sandwich, I notice the cashier and another woman talking about Jesus. "That little bastard!", one says. "He better take what he can get this morning.", said the other. In walks Jesus, looking very much the part, only younger than I would've thought. He stares through his scraggly hair and beard, and I notice that he's staring directly at me. "Jesus, go turn the headlights off!", says the fat one, and she shakes her head at the other, as if this were some daily occurance. Jesus goes out and I follow shortly behind after I pay. (I didn't take the sweltering-in-its-wrapper cinnamon bun that I could've got free with my coffee.) Jesus looks at me and asks me how I am, and I say I'm wonderful. He's still staring at my car as I pull away, only this time he's inside the other vehicle with his large companion.
All I can say is, I'm glad they had the 20-ounce Fresca.