Gus was a firm believer that any day could be worthwhile if you made the most of it. It had been a good day for Gus, consisting of face painting, meaningful conversations, and flowers. 

And of course – Chinese takeout. 

He routinely ordered the same thing, egg rolls and a boat load of fortune cookies. It was only when he began to open the cookies with their satisfying crack and unfurled the tiny slips of paper folded within that he grew concerned. 

Life is a monotonous, endless cycle, read the first one. 

Is there a purpose for me beyond writing face-value fortunes to be stored within cheap corporate cookies? read another. 

In the words of George Harrison, what is life? 

Why?

After reading through each fortune with the scrutiny of a critic, Gus realized he had just witnessed an existential crisis. 

Fearing for the stability of the fortune writer, Gus approached the very exhausted looking employee behind the cash register. He must’ve looked like a lunatic from the plethora of crumbs dotting his plaid shirt, and the bundle of paper slips in his hands. 

“I have an inquiry regarding the fortune cookies. They’ve got me a bit worried.” Gus passed a few of the fortunes over so she could read for herself. “Look, I expect nothing more than low quality, cheesy and generalized fortunes, but this– this has gone too far. I’m genuinely concerned about the existentialism at play here.”

The employee read over the fortunes curiously. “Yeah, this is just Alice. She comes in and writes us new material every few weeks. In fact, she’s sitting right over there in the corner if you want to talk to her. She’s a frequent customer, just like you.” 

Frequent customer? Ouch. Maybe I should cut some egg rolls out of my diet. The elusive fortune cookie writer, who he now knew as Alice, was sitting in the corner of the restaurant between two large windows streaked with a light downpour. 

“Hello. I don’t mean to intrude, but are you Alice, the one who wrote these fortunes?” Gus asked, clearing his throat. 

Alice looked up, answering in a monotone voice, “Yes.” 

“Are you doing alright? Because the content seems rather existential.”

“After a decade of writing fortune cookies for various restaurants one could say the existential crisis was inevitable,” she replied flatly.

“Do you need to talk to someone?” 

“I could use someone to talk to, sure. Sit,” she gestured. 

“So, a decade of fortune cookies?” he inquired. 

“And children’s party planning. Although that’s more of a side hustle.”

Gus was at a loss for words, given her bright and bubbly exterior. Why was this so awkward? He was used to getting no response out of people. 

Gus could think of no other way to fill the silence then by saying, “Things got pretty fired up at my job today.” 

“What do you do?” 

“I’m a mortician.” 

For whatever bizarre reason, he did not have to justify his career choice to Alice, who seemed interested. Usually he had to interject by saying that he was undeniably fun and full of life. 

Suddenly seeing a way to help Alice with her existential crisis, Gus continued. “It’s a very personal line of work. Being with the deceased and their family has taught me the value in every life and that person’s memory.” 

“I guess I should stop writing fortunes then and make something meaningful out of my life,” Alice sighed. 

“What do you mean? You can make a good life out of anything.” 

Alice smiled a bit at that, as if reassured. “Would you like to go take a walk outside? You know, away from the grease smell?” 

“I’d like that,” said Gus. It was the first time during their conversation that he realized how beautiful she was.