In the world in which we now live, the only way a person like me, who doesn't bake, doesn't have a stocked up kitchen, doesn't have a bunch of utensils or bowls or pots and pans, and moreover has no room for such because of the tiny kitchen in the tiny bachelor apartment in which he lives (and furthermore can't be bothered to bake stuff for just me in the first place), gets to eat good, fresh restaurant baked goods- for instance, biscuits- is to order them.

And so, when I pay $2.99 for a side of biscuits with my breakfast, then discover there are no biscuits in the bag, I am bitterly disappointed. I had my taste buds all set for biscuit.

(That reminds me of an old punchline; "That's funny, I had it set for quail." Now I have to look that up.)

A phone call to the very helpful Amanda at Bob Evans got a refund set in motion, but what it didn't get me was biscuits. How hard is biscuits? All I wanted was my side of biscuits. Maybe for someone to dash across town with a delivery of biscuits.

I am still bitter over the biscuits. The biscuits were a lie.