Burgerstory: I eat my Big Mac alone

Increasingly I eat my Big Macs alone. I have become ashamed of eating them in public. Friends of mine used to like hanging out and eating a burger with me here or there. It’s sad but a number of them have lost interest, gone on diets, or turned vegan. Vegan! Why would anybody turn vegan.

Recently one or two of my friends have come along to get the yellow delicacy with me, but they ended up leaving after only having eaten one. I had this chap look at me with disgust after I pounded two of those darlings down my gullet. He said I should get help. I felt a bit ashamed. I carry around a brown paper bag to drop the contraband into when I am somewhere I might be recognized.

Since that guy told me to get help I live hoping friends of mine will not notice the crumbs of dried burger bun on my shirt lapel, those forgotten morsels unnoticed in the cars rear view mirror. I feel dirty when I notice them there in the bathroom mirror. I hope the smell of that pinkish white burger sauce will not be noticed on my breath. The lettuce sometimes falls between the seats in the car. That is really annoying. When that happens, and since my fingers are slightly too big to fit down that crack, I have to get two pens and try and fish the long pieces of iceberg from between the seat and the shifter. We cannot have the Vegan-police seeing that shred of evidence, that lack of ‘nutrition’ in my car… What am I thinking, she wouldn’t ever get in my car. But it’s better to get rid of all the evidence anyway.

There are times when I daydream about the next time I’ll get to go to the drive-in. Sure enough they come true. I’ll make that order, pay the 15 dollars it takes to buy my fix, pull up in the parking-lot on the other side of Sears (my friends don’t shop there and most people park in front) and moisten my lips in preparation for the wondrous refined glory which will tickle my taste buds, numb the anxiety and allow me to concentrate once again on the shopping list, before I go home.

Sometimes I feel the only real friend I have is the server of the month. She understands me. On the occasions that I think its safe enough to walk into the shop I try and do it when she is on shift. She will look at me with a smile when ever I make my way into that well lit room, completely lacking in character. It smells of sizzling frozen burger patty and refined sugar being heated slowly. Then at 11 am, when my first hunger strikes and I open my mouth and ask for one more perfectly shaped pieces of food she willingly obliges and I realize my early morning pangs will vanish. I expect that little rush of happiness which surpasses all understanding.

Later, sometime after I have left the food court, or the drive through, I deal with the consequences. The reality of what has just happened. My intestines start feeling a build up of gastronomical pressure, the stomach’s racing track starts feeling the impact of the runner gearing up for that Big race to the finish. Sprinting  the contestant dons his shoes and I start thinking about running for the nearest…

Now thats what I call a Krispy Kreme Burger.

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