Lunch

I ate lunch at Burger Tycoon today. I ordered the Tycoon Junior, fries, drink, and chicken nuggets with Buffalo sauce. The lady who took my order appeared to be of advanced age. If sun exposure causes wrinkles, she had apparently lived most of her life eight feet from the sun. And she was one of those people who calls everyone “sweetie.” Call me old-fashioned, but I normally address complete strangers as “Sir” or Ma’am.” For me to address a total stranger as “sweetie” or “sweetheart” or “honey” would be unthinkable. But, I suspect the use of overly familiar wordage is a requirement for waitresses, especially in the South.

I was their only customer, never a good sign. When I got the burger it was barely warm. (Still tasty, but hot would have been so much better.) The fries were satisfyingly hot but salt-free. (As everyone knows, unsalted French fries are simply the best.) I got a drink from their self-serve machine, but the ice-maker was broken. A few shards of ice fell into my cup before the machine went dry. I went to the counter and picked up my order; the woman told me she would bring me the chicken nuggets when they were ready.

I ate my burger and fries but the chicken never came. I asked for the nuggets on the way out. The lady said, “Are you ready for them now?” I wanted to reply, “No ma’am, I thought I would go home and let you Fedex them to me.” But I held my wisecrack and took the nuggets home, where I consumed half of them and put the remainder in the fridge.

My stomach didn’t feel well, and that slowly progressed to – well, let’s leave that to the reader’s imagination. I think we’ve all been there at least once.  By this time I was sure the cook had dropped a chicken nugget on the floor, picked it up, blew if off, and put it into the bag. That was unfair, as Burger Tycoon may have had nothing at all to do with the unpleasantness I was experiencing. Nevertheless, I envisioned events thusly:

“Yo, Devontae! You dropped a nugget! You know the five second rule.”

“Thanks, Shaquilla. I got it. Hardly any dirt on it. Just a little of that sticky stuff that leaks out of the fryer.”

Eventually I resorted to Pepto-Bismol. When that didn’t help, I took Imodium. Maybe it was the combination of pink and green, but my agitated innards calmed down.

This left me with the question, what do I do with the remaining half dozen chicken nuggets in the fridge? Do I take a chance and heat them up for supper or do I throw them out? Being a single guy who keeps no food in the house, the chicken nuggets were pretty much my only option. Besides, I was now stuffed full of Pepto-Bismol and Imodium, so I was feeling fairly bullet-proof. And if any of the nuggets had bacterial contamination, I could at least make those germs sweat before I ate them. I set the toaster oven to 350° and let it heat up. Then I put the nuggets into the oven for 10 minutes, took them out and turned them over, and put them back into the oven for another 6 minutes. The nuggets were a wee bit dry after this second cooking, but dunking them into Buffalo sauce greatly helped their flavor. Chicken nuggets are, after all, simply a vehicle to get Buffalo sauce to one’s mouth. Just to be sure there were no dangerous germs in my tummy, I sterilized it with a liberal quantity of alcohol before going to bed. It must have worked; there were no noxious consequences.

I’ve sworn off buying meals at Burger Tycoon, but I know that won’t last more than a month or two.