Today was Pirate Pak Day at our local White Spot Restaurant. On Pirate Pak Day, you can eat adult burger items served in the childrens' Pirate Pak boat, which is a fold-out cardboard pirate ship featuring cute, cartoony White Spot characters. Two dollars per Pirate Pak were donated to the Zajac Ranch For Kids, which is a charity-run summer medical camp for children with debilitating conditions.
Considering that the lineup to get into the restaurant was a couple of hours for the same food that you'd get any other day, but of course wrapped in a personal pirate ship, I think that the event was likely a grand success.
Since my wife and I never lived in British Columbia as children, we never had a Pirate Pak before. Today was our first. Despite that the restaurant was packed, service was brisk. We were seated at a roomy table with enough allowance to properly evolve the naval engagement that should occur when two Pirate Paks meet at sea.
HMS White Spot, my flagship, was granted the weather gage, which allowed me to cross my wife's bows and slaughter her decks with a withering raking fire. The table edge, however, blocked my tack, and the White Spot was forced to wear away, enduring a serious luff in her sails. The HMS Triple-O, her flag, brought her helm over smartly and returned brisk fire on the rise: my mainmast was shattered. We hammered at each other with cannon shot at range, when my wife wisely followed Nelson's dictum and closed for boarding without maneuvers. Her Triple O's were ready for close combat, my men were shocked by their ferocity. We struck our colours and surrendered before the ship was sunk, my first loss of Pirate Pak command.