Wendy's Food Almost Killed MeSubmitted by AJ at 2004-11-10 11:44:54 EST
Rating: 1.8 on 117 ratings (117 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
Date: November 9, 2004
Time: 11:15 PM
Setting: Iowa. Rural Iowa. And that's saying something.
Hunger Level: Nearly insatiable.
Places to eat: Minimal. Possible choices include Taco Bell, Wendy's, or a variety of pizza places.
"Jesus Christ, I'm fucking hungry. Let's go get something to eat," I said, as two of my friends and I sat around watching Adult Swim.
"Quiet. Inu Yasha's on."
This could be awhile. My friends, though I love them to death, are nerds.
"You guys are fucking nerds."
Silence. The gauntlet had been laid down. I had crossed the Rubicon, and the situation was bound to get nasty.
When one nerd calls another nerd a nerd, it isn't just a case of blatant hypocrisy, it's also the biggest insult in the world. It's like a Cubs fan saying your team sucks. It's like a trailer park resident laughing at a homeless guy. It's like Dr. Phil calling anyone fat. It just shouldn't happen.
"What did you just say?" My friend Joe said as he glared at me with a hatred so deep that it looked as if he could kill me with a single motion. It also made him look like a ferret, so I was trying not to laugh.
"I said I'm fucking hungry. Let's get some food."
"You call us nerds and then expect us to go out to eat with you? Fuck you."
"Oh, come on."
"No. We're watching TV."
"Fine, I'm going to Wendy's. I'll be back later. You guys want anything?"
"Yeah, get me a number 6 with a Mountain Dew. Hold the tomato and Biggie Size it."
"Okay... you want anything Drue?"
"I want a number 1 with a Pepsi. No lettuce, but make sure they put onion on it. Last time I didn't get any onion. Oh, and get ketchup. Lots of ketchup."
"We're right here in your house. You have a ketchup bottle right downstairs."
"Yeah, but I don't feel like going down there to get it."
"Lazy fucker..." I muttered under my breath. "Okay, I'll be back."
Recently, I just bought myself a new car. Nothing too new, nothing too old. Just something nice that will last me through college. Something that gets better than the 12 miles per gallon I was getting with my rustbucket Bronco II. Since I now have the nicest car in the group, I get stuck driving everywhere, but with one rule. No eating in the car. Hell, I don't even eat in the car. The interior is nice, and I want to keep it that way. But when I finally made it through the Wendy's drive thru, the smell of chicken and beef and potato hit my nose, penetrating my willpower and commanding me.
"Eat me. Eeeeeeat me," sang the choir of fries. No. I must resist. I must resist that savory potatoey goodness awaiting me in the confines of the white paper sack.
GAH. I couldn't. I just had to eat something, my stomach was rumbling more than Oprah's foundation when she comes down the stairs. I gave in.
I told myself, "It won't be so bad if you eat a few fries. Just pop 'em right in your mouth, no ketchup. If you don't drop them they won't make a mess."
I reached into the bag and procured a handful of fries, chewing on them methodically. As I drove, I ate more and more of the fries. I hadn't dropped one yet, and my hunger was subsiding a bit. I pulled onto the curving onramp to get onto Highway 30 as I chomped on another handful of fries.
Before I knew it my mouth was filled with an intense blast of salt. My tongue was shrivelling up and my eyes were watering. I had chewed through one of the salt packets that Wendy's so thoughtfully puts into the bags. Who the fuck uses those things anyway? That's like asking high cholesterol with a side order of heart attack. Does anyone really tear those tiny little packets open and thoughtfully displace their NaCl over their fries? I had to reach for my drink to get the taste out of my mouth. As I reached for it, I miscalculated and sent the whole tray of soda careening onto the floor of the passenger seat. Fuckbeans.
I was still going around the onramp, and I reached down to try and grab the drinks before they did too much permanent damage, still holding onto the wheel with my left hand and cautiously guiding the car along its intended path. I took a little too long to act. As I reached for the last cup, I heard a familiar rumble. At first I thought it was a harmless fart from all the exertion, and told myself I would turn the fan on abruptly once everything was in order. Unfortunately, it wasn't my ass. It was the rumble strip of the highway, and I had gone over it.
I glanced up over the right side of the dash to see the wall of the overpass coming closer to me at about 40 mph.
*BRACE FOR IMPACT!!!!*
*IT'S TOO LATE!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAH*
I hit the wall at the same angle Dale Earnhardt did at Daytona. I just kept thinking, "At least he has Waltrip to blame." The windows in front busted out as the car crumpled itself forward like a sardine can. Inside, I was still hunched over. This nice, new car also came equipped with driver and passenger airbags. My head was in between the two seats, and I got a nice shot to the face from the passenger side. My nose started bleeding and my eyes watered up again. Since I was leaning over I got a full-body shot from the driver's side. I felt pain shoot down my left arm and my abdomen.
I sat there covered in glass, hungry as hell, breathing heavily, and pensively bleeding. "Should I use the napkins for wiping up the blood, or should I try and reach my sandwich with my good arm?" I chose the latter, and when a police officer showed up he had quite a laugh at the scene. There I was, blood covering my passenger seat and my shirt, my nose mangled worse than Jewel's teeth, and eating a Spicy Chicken sandwich with no tomato. I didn't care that I'd grabbed the wrong one. Those fuckers could get their own.
After I was cleaned up a little bit and sitting in the back of the ambulance with another spicy chicken sandwich, I realized the real kicker. I had liability insurance on the rustbucket, and the new full-coverage policy w/ $500 deductible wasn't in place yet. The insurance company wasn't going to cover a fucking penny. I'd just paid over $5000 for Wendy's food.
Please don't put salt on your fries, people. It's going to kill you eventually.
Fuck you Mr. Wendy.
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