Fast Food Power

Unlike most people, I don’t have any issues with fast food. I’ve read Fast Food Nation and watched SuperSize Me but these studies don’t scare me. The standard theme “this stuff is nasty” is just plain common sense. And who cares? I always knew that the stuff in large doses would kill me. So will pretty much everything else I do, no reason to FREAK OUT when I biggie size my fries.

I will not, however, visit a fast food restaurant in New York City. The places are dirty, smelly, and crawling with people of the same characteristics. The no-entry rule applies to most chain restaurants in Manhattan as well. I won’t even eat at the Olive Garden or Outback. Nor will my friends other than Rose who was set up on a blind date with a guy new to town who thought Outback was the height of sophistication. I shouldn’t make fun of that because I went on a blind date once with a dude who took me to California Pizza Kitchen. I always wondered if it was some sort of test. Like this guy was deadest on finding a girl who would call him after a night dining at CPK because it meant she wasn’t concerned about money or class.

Around the corner from my apartment building is a Popeye’s, a chicken joint that’s a step down from KFC. I noticed in the last month it has been boarded up for renovation. I just figured that meant they were taking a few days to mop the floor and hire people without brown teeth, but when it reopened, it was a whole new place. The sign is the same but the inside has a Spanish theme with colorful wall murals of couples dancing. What? I noticed through the huge picture windows they installed around the front door. I don’t understand why such an expensive decoration scheme would be wasted on a place like Popeye’s. The clientele hasn’t changed or increased even though the employees have better uniforms. What was the point?

In college my nickname was Biggie because of an unfortunate Wendy’s episode. I was on a road trip with my friend, Cash, who loves Wendy’s as much as I do. We stopped at lunchtime and this particular joint in the middle of Nevada was jam-packed. By the time it was my turn to order I was starving, tired, and fresh out of patience. The girl who took my order asked if I wanted Biggie sizes. I didn’t understand her because she mumbled. I was near tears due to my famished state. I cried angrily, “I just want my food.” She looked at me for a second with that expression, “oh yeah, watch this.” Mumbles then proceeded to call, clear as day, into the order microphone “Biggie, biggie, biggie for the biggie, biggie, biggie…” I can’t remember exactly what she said, but there were about 15 biggies peppered throughout the order. It was loud enough for everyone present to look at the counter and see the “Biggie, biggie, biggie.” My friend Cash couldn’t stop laughing and contemplated sitting elsewhere because everyone was staring. It was funny but I couldn’t eat because I was convinced my food had been spit in. Also common sense in such a scenario.