The concession stand was mostly empty after the game. It was staffed by one lone employee who watched sullenly as equally-sullen Rockets fans streamed out of the arena. Even the hot pretzels, spinning in their heated compartment, seemed sullen.
“Can I get all this to take home?” Spencer Dinwiddie asked, walking up to the counter and pointing at the popcorn, pretzels, and other snacks.
The employee took a while to recognize who she was talking to. “Wait! Aren’t you-?”
“Yeah,” Spencer answered. “‘The Destroyer of Houston Hearts’, they’re calling me, but I prefer ‘Din-Dins’. And Din-Dins is hungry. Can you just give me all this stuff that’s sitting out? You’re probably just gonna throw it away.”
“I don’t know,” the employee replied, hesitating. “It’d be a lot of work to get this all boxed up…”
Spencer took out his wallet and pulled from it a crisp thousand-dollar bill. “Please?” he asked, flashing his winning smile.
The employee stared at the bill as if she had never seen so much money in one place in her life. Her breathing was heavy as she reached out to grab it. “Yeah, of course,” she said.
Spencer smiled again. Part one of his plan was a go.
—
Handfuls of food in his arms, Spencer loitered near the Rockets locker room until he was sure that there was nobody left. Nobody except the one man who he most wanted to see: James Harden. Spencer knew that James would have taken the loss so personally that he would stay in the locker room until all the media had no choice but to go home. It had now been three hours, and Spencer hadn’t seen any movement for the last twenty minutes. His food was cold, but that wasn’t going to be a problem.
Awkwardly manipulating the door handle while balancing various snacks in his arms, Spencer managed to let himself into the locker room without dropping or spilling anything. He slowly peeked around a corner to see James Harden, as expected, sitting at his locker, staring at the floor. If he had heard Spencer enter, he didn’t seem to care.
Knowing that there was no better time than the present, Spencer started running full speed towards James. “IT’S…” he yelled, brandishing the snack foods in front of him like an offering, “DINNER TIME!”
James barely had time to look at before Spencer barrelled into him at a full sprint. Popcorn, hot dogs, nachos, soda, and an excess of other snack foods went flying everywhere. “What the hell?” James yelped as he was knocked to the floor.
“DINNER TIME FOR THE FLOPPER!” Spencer yelled triumphantly, grabbing a handful of nacho chips, which he paused to drench in nacho cheese sauce before smashing them all in James’ mouth and beard. “DINNER TIME! DINNER TIME! DINNER TIME!”
James was trying to formulate a response, but his mouth was full of unwanted nachos, and he could not. When he saw that Spencer next had a whole mustard-slathered hot dog for his enjoyment, he shook his head and tried to cover his face with his hands.
“Maybe we can get you from an A cup to a B cup,” Spencer gloated, slapping the mounds of fat on James’ chest before jabbing the hot dog like a weapon into his mouth area. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, tubby? Come on, blubber man, it’s DINNER TIME!” The hot dog was thrust again and again until it forcibly entered James’ mouth.
This obscene spectacle continued for some time. In between force-feedings, Spencer would punch and kick James to keep him submissive. During the whole ordeal, James could only manage pitiful pleas for the assault to end, while Spencer continued to make references to the current time being “dinner time”. Finally, however, the food ran out.
James was crying as Spencer triumphantly got up and stood over him. “Congrats on 58, man. Way to go. But there’s only one clutch guy in this building tonight, and it’s me.” He turned to leave, but he couldn’t resist one more parting shot. “Don’t forget, James. When Din-Dins is in the house, it’s always gonna be…dinner time.”