Richaun Holmes, sitting at the too-small desk in his hotel room, looked at the containers of hotel-provided food with distaste. He had been expecting something like the high-end room service that he often ordered for himself on road trips: steaks, double-decker cheeseburgers, sushi made out of exotic sea life. What he was looking at was not high-end in the least: unseasoned chicken breasts, limp broccoli florets, a soup that was more like plain broth, dinner rolls straight from a tube. It was like something that the team nutritionists would feed him after he showed up to training camp ten pounds too heavy.
But he wasn’t too heavy, so there was no reason for him to have received food like this. A few quick messages with his teammates confirmed that they had all gotten similar meals delivered to their rooms. He was grateful for the chance to play basketball again after the worldwide pandemic had nearly cancelled the season, but he had gotten used to making his own food choices. Choices which often involved large quantities of delicious fast food.
Grabbing the plastic cutlery that had been provided with the underwhelming meal, Richaun gamely took a bite of the chicken. As he chewed it, he couldn’t help but think about how much tastier it would have been if it had been cut into strips, deep-fried, and served with a side of barbecue dipping sauce. After a few more bites, Richaun was bored of the bland flavor, and pulled out his phone to browse his Twitter feed while taking a stab at the broccoli, which was not improving with age.
As he scrolled through messages from his fellow NBA players, some of whom were making commentary on the food or the accommodations, one message in particular caught his eye. When he read it, his mood brightened significantly.
“To all my @NBA Bro’s. Postmates delivers to the hotel!!!” Kelly Oubre had written, followed by more specifics on the delivery procedure. Richaun read the entire message again to make sure he was understanding it right. Was it true? Could he really get food from outside restaurants delivered into the COVID-free bubble? Richaun was still close friends with Kelly from their time together on the Suns and he knew that Kelly would not lie about such an important subject.
Not wasting any more of his appetite on the unpalatable assortment of food in front of him, Richaun switched to the Postmates app on his phone. The app detected his location and offered a wide range of restaurants to order from, but Richaun didn’t need to waste time browsing through that list. He knew exactly what he was craving.
A minute later, the McDonald’s restaurant closest to the Disney complex had been located and selected within the Postmates app. Now he could pick out his dinner from the expansive and delicious McDonald’s menu. Just seeing all the pictures of the cheeseburgers juxtaposed with the sad-looking meal in front of him was causing him to involuntarily salivate. In the end, he went with his usual order, the one that the McDonald’s workers in Sacramento were used to making for him: two Double Quarter Pounders, two twenty-piece McNuggets with BBQ sauce, two large fries, and eight apple pies. No soda because they always put too much ice in the cup on delivery orders. There was soda available in the hotel.
Not even glancing at the substantial price total, Richaun hit the “place order” button and was somewhat dismayed to see a thirty-minute estimated wait. A package of saltine crackers that had come with the soup kept his hunger under control while the timer ticked down and Richaun impatiently paced about the room.
Finally, it was time. The app was informing him that a delivery person was waiting just outside the entrance of the hotel with a bag (or two bags) of McDonald’s food. His teammates were going to be so jealous, Richaun thought to himself as he affixed a mask to his face and jogged down the corridors, not stopping until he was past the main doors and standing in the humid Florida night. The curvaceous golden “M” on the bags of food was like a beacon to him.
“Thanks so much, man,” Richaun said gratefully to the deliveryman, reaching out to take the two weighty bags.
Just as his fingertips grazed his meal, he was tackled roughly from the side. The deliveryman jumped back as Richaun and the unknown assailant rolled across the asphalt.
“What the hell?” Richaun yelped.
“No leaving the bubble,” growled the burly security guard. “It’s back to quarantine for you. Fourteen days.”
Richaun’s heart sank. Had Kelly been lying? Were food deliveries forbidden? “Do I at least get to keep the food?” he begged, dreading what he suspected the answer would be.
To his horror, the security guard grabbed a handful of french fries and crammed them into his mouth while grinning. “Nope.”
Richaun stared at the ground, filled with shame and sadness. “Damn it, Kelly,” he muttered.