DATE: DECEMBER 2008
PLACE: SOMEWHERE IN CALIFORNIA.

***


It would probably have been hyperbolic for him to claim that he knew the taste of bitter irony. At the very least, it would sound like a claim he'd make for exaggeration's sake. However, it was the way the grappler honestly felt, filtering out all the profanities and unnecessary foul language. It came across as sadistic to the young man that his ambitions of ending the year on a good note were dashed quicker than all prospects of pushing him as the WWE's next big star. Still, for a short while, everything seemed to fall into place with seamless ease: he'd made his return to the largest wrestling company in the world a few months ago which was going well enough, and things at home appeared tolerable, that a rarity all its own. It left a notoriously fulminating Puerto Rican with little to gripe about, little to bitch about in exhaustive detail. It would have been a stretch to claim that he was happy, that he was experiencing state of mind or feeling characterized by contentment and satisfaction. He looked to be getting there though. If only in theory. Then this morning happened. Then like a hundred dozen other people, his flight was canceled without further notice due to hellishly bad weather; a winter season that was unrepentantly frigid, bitterly harsh.

Granted that his current predicament was avoidable if he had merely heeded Al Roker's advice of booking an early trip. However? That was ultimately implying that he had a lenient schedule. The not so pleasant reality was that he'd drove to the airport right after a live event. The reality was, all employees of Vince McMahon had only three days off for Christmas anyway, and he lost the opportunity to head back home to enjoy those passing hours.

He wasn't the only one in spite of what his acutely dejected attitude seemed to suggest. Among the dozens, the Bayamon native managed to find a freakishly tall Canadian who was going through the same troubles. He'd swear with conviction that the offer he'd made was spontaneous, spur of the moment. He would insist on this because he didn't know what the hell he was doing inside a grocery show at a gas station shopping for quick, unhealthy goods for two people. He'd claim it was a friendly offer gone awry because standing there, at an aisle that specified in potato chips, he was sincerely pondering if Cory would prefer COOL RANCH or NACHO CHEESE. He was contemplating food choices for a stranger he barely knew days away from Christmas.

Realizing this was akin to the saying about a straw breaking a camel's break, it summarized all the rage he felt toward the Almighty for throwing a wrench in his plans. There was a fleeting second or two where his predominant sentiment was to scream at the top of his lungs, to punch the first person who looked at him in a way he didn't appreciate. But he sucked it up with an audible sigh, turning to the younger man who was now his open-ended companion. "So. Which one of these do you like? Ain't really picky myself."

…They'd make it work.