Over the weekend, amid a dizzying schedule of building deliveries in the bustling metropolises of Bangs, Brownwood, and Coleman, we made a stop at a lonely and poorly managed Burger King restaurant. There was one young lady working the counter, and by “working” I mean she was standing with her back to the register (and her customers) and gazing up at the menu, apparently reading it as her lips were moving. Another was sweeping the same spot in the floor repeatedly while speaking in urgent tones into her Bluetooth headset. If the quality of the clientele was an indication of the quality of the food, I should have taken the customer picking his nose and wiping it on his green T-shirt as an omen of things to come.
My initial order of pancakes, which promised to be the highlight of my morning (Read: “Pancake Passion”), was rebuffed when it was explained to me that they had just had a “big order” and were out of pancakes. I considered this a blessing in disguise, since this was probably an indication that the pancakes at this establishment were of the rubbery, gray, pre-cooked and re-heated variety; I weighed by options and ordered a Sausage Breakfast Burritos Meal. The main attraction of this breakfast combo promised to be a festival of wholesome breakfast flavors in a tortilla, including egg, sausage, onions, and peppers. The illustration on the colorful menu looked something like this.
Peppers don’t always agree with me, but there seemed to be very few of them in each serving, and I posited that the extensive processing that they were likely to go through before arriving at this restaurant would render them inert. I should have realized that this meal was not going to live up to its advertising when it arrived and looked like this.
Undeterred, and realizing that my next chance for calories was many hours away, I ate the burritos and a large cup of coffee in the truck on the way to our first delivery.
It was not long after this that a feeling akin to a half-dozen hamsters doing jumping jacks while on fire was developing in my digestive tract. The pain was so intense that I briefly considered whether or not barfing out the window of the truck would technically be littering. Sudden bouts of acid re-flux seemed to indicate that the hamsters had lit “Black Snake” fireworks in my esophagus.
I soldiered on through the next few deliveries, and when we stopped for gas I searched in vain for some ginger ale. (Has ginger ale gone completely out of fashion? There was none to be found at this convenience store, despite their enormous selection of sodas and such.) I opted for some fruit flavored Tums and a Sprite. After sampling each of the Tums fruit flavors twice and drinking most of the Sprite, I was able to stand upright and was no longer musing about the inscriptions I would like on my grave marker.
Needless to say, I will not be returning to Burger King for breakfast, or any other meal for that matter, for the foreseeable future.