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I love dining out. I especially love it at restaurants where the prices aren’t presented on the menu and if you show up without a blazer on, a maitre d gives you a loaner that is ill-fitting and more than likely from the lost and found bin.
You’re required to wear that blazer for the duration of your meal, and it’s inside of a place like that where you really feel like you need to be on your best behavior. The small portions, the “indoor voices”, the elderly woman playing piano for tips, and the utensil etiquette – I revel in all of it.
Fine dining is fun. I don’t want to give off the impression that I am in a place where I can afford to eat at places like this all of the time because I can’t. There are special occasions, however, where I’ll treat myself. It’s a way to remind my brain that life isn’t as bad as I make it out to be.
And then there are other occasions – times like last night, where I get an undeniable craving for something that I know will be my undoing a few hours after eating it. People put their noses up and wag their finger at the Wendy’s and McDonald’s of the world, pretending like their too good for the phenomenal food that these places put out every day. They call them low class, unhealthy, and not good. And to those people I kindly say “go fuck yourself.”
I had a long day at work yesterday. One of those days where you start to question everything. Should I just walk out of this bitch and quit? How long could I make it without a job before I’d have to start selling plasma?
These are just a few of the questions that go through a person’s mind when it feels like the day just won’t end. Lots of empty threats getting thrown around inside the old noggin. But they never come to fruition because as much as I sometimes hate my job, I also am able to rationally look at the situation and chalk it up to it simply being a shit day.
Outside of alcohol, the only cure for a bad day at work, at least for me, is greasy food. And greasy food is what I got. After getting home and having a glass of wine, I didn’t start looking for a nice restaurant to sit down at. I contemplated taking my talents to Chipotle but that’s more of a lunch spot for me. I almost Postmated a Five Guy’s burger and fries but didn’t feel like paying the outrageous delivery fees that go along with it. And then it hit me.
I live about five blocks from a Wendy’s. And so it was decided that last night, after one of the worst days of work I’ve had in a while, that I would be treating myself. I ended up getting a Baconator with a baked potato and some nuggets for good measure. I drank about a half of a liter of Coca Cola as well and I feel like complete shit this morning as I type this.
But last night it was worth it. Fast food gets so much hate nowadays in a world that is obsessed with clean eating and fitness. People bag on ‘Donalds, Wendy’s, and Culver’s because it’s artery clogging and contributing to the youth obesity epidemic.
And I understand that it’s not good for you, but I really wish people would stop pretending that fast food isn’t fucking amazing because it is. It’s so good and I’ll die on this hill if I have to. If liking fast food makes me a white trash slob than so be it. That Wendy’s meal I had last night was a revelation, and the mess I made in my toilet this morning was worth it. Enjoy the day, everyone. .
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