EverydayI haven't thrown up in three years. I haven't eaten German chocolate cake in six years. I haven't fallen off my bike in two years. I haven't said the word "pundit" in seven years. I haven't worn camouflage in nine years. And a day hasn't passed in the last eight years where I didn't eat at least one egg and sausage biscuit at BurgerTowne USA. That's 2,920 egg and sausage biscuits, 66 pounds of sausage and 5,840 biscuit halves. If I had saved all my wrappers, I could've pieced together a thin blanket that could cover a 54-foot giant. That's how many BurgerTowne egg and sausage biscuits I'd eaten. ---------- When I woke up, both of my alarm clocks flashed 12:09. I could sense I was late for my dental appointment. I first suspected an electrical failure, but where were my battery back-ups? Upon further inspection I noticed the clocks had been unplugged then plugged back in and the D batteries for the backup systems had been oddly replaced with Double A's. More importantly, I felt my BurgerTowne streak was in jeopardy. As I scrambled to get ready, I threw on the first set of clothes I saw and flew out the door. I had pedaled two blocks when I looked down to see I was wearing my rabbit fur tank top and red and blue jogging pants. Sure it was a fashion mistake — clearly — but it was one I could live with. That is until it began to rain. Keep in mind, rabbit fur does not take well to precipitation. Two and a half years ago I got caught in the rain wearing a rabbit fur scarf and the BurgerTowne manager on duty turned me away for sanitary reasons. In short, I was concerned. "Think!" I thought. Aha. The newspaper salesman on the street corner. If there was ever a sure thing it was him. Everyday on my way to BurgerTowne, I saw the guy with his orange Post-News T-shirt and oversized "$1.00" button, hawking news to passers by. What a boring existence. Everyday: same corner, same uniform, same cars. As the rain came down, the newspaper man wore a gorilla poncho. I needed to barter. Approaching him, I recalled my time in Old Mexico. Following a family trip to Guadalajara in junior high, I decided to stay behind to sell low-priced jewelry and Chiclets. Using my business savvy, I revolutionized the market. With prices so low, and service after the sale, I drove many peddlers out of business and amassed a sizeable heap of pesos in the process. Needing that poncho, I would call upon those skills again. I immediately offered him my bike's flat tire patch kit. He refused. I grudgingly threw in my calculator watch. It was more than I wanted to give up but it was a top-shelf gorilla poncho and it was beginning to rain harder. He accepted. But reality struck when he produced the poncho. The vendor was actually wearing a gorilla suit, not a gorilla poncho. The poncho was merely a clear plastic bag with a hole cut in the top. I felt like I'd been had, misled, one-upped, duped to the highest. In a fit of anger I tried to set fire to his stack of newspapers but the flames were quickly doomed by the weather. In retaliation, he rolled up the crossword he was working on and chased me away, asking if I knew a five-letter word for "wallop." I did, but I refused to help him with the puzzle. With the rolled-up newspaper in his hand and his arm reared back ready to strike, I looked at his watch, noticed the time, and remembered my dentist appointment. Despite my intuition as I strolled into the dentist office, I was informed that I was not late but an hour early. To kill time I headed to the dental-themed miniature golf course adjacent to the office. It didn't take long before I became baffled. On Hole 1, a grinning clown's face stretched the width of the hole midway up. The object was to hit the ball through the hole in the clown's mouth where he was missing a tooth. However, this being a dental-themed course, the clown had been fitted with a porcelain crown, making it impossible to get the ball through the mouth. I later blasted management for inconsistency on the course. Although the clown had received proper attention for his missing tooth, the lion on Hole 5, whose mouth opened and closed randomly, had an obvious underbite. The manager assured me that the lion had an appointment with the dentist to be fitted for a retainer later in the week. I was later asked to leave after brushing my teeth with one of the tooth brush obstacles on Hole 8. I explained that I was simply preparing for my dentist appointment. I brushed and flossed on the way over but had since eaten a sleeve of cashews while I golfed. Returning to the dentist, I was told that I was due for x-rays. As the hygienist took the x-rays, the severity of the situation set in. I was originally an hour early but after the golf, I ended up being an hour late. I had just 45 minutes before BurgerTowne stopped serving breakfast. Panic set in and I bolted out of the office. As I began to pedal my bike, I felt sluggish and weighted when I realized I was still wearing the 20-pound lead vest from the x-rays. I needed to shed the vest but figured I should get some money for it. As I pedaled I saw a jogger running toward me. I'm not sure of his name despite seeing him pretty much everyday. We usually nod but have never spoken. As he approached I dismounted and introduced myself. For reasons I can't explain, I didn't use my real name. As I had little time to spare, I started into my Mexican sales pitch. Noting his wrist and ankle weights, I pitched the vest as similar exercise equipment. I sensed he had issues with the large smiling cartoon tooth but I diverted his attention, pointing out that the Easter yellow vest matched his socks. It didn't but he must have been color blind because he bought my pitch and the vest for $3.75. I could've gotten more for it but I sort of felt sorry for the guy. Did he have a wife? Did he have a dog? Probably not or he'd bring it jogging. Likely a solitary life, poor sap. Jogging the same drab stretch of road everyday. And for what? In the eight years we've been nodding, he hasn't gotten any thinner. Same mustache, same shorts, same sunglasses. I glanced down to check the time and remembered I'd given my watch to the newspaper vendor. I looked at the jogger's watch but apparently the lead dental vest had already taken its toll on the watch's digital interworkings. Instead of a time, the watch spelled out the word "cavity." I sensed my egg and sausage biscuit streak was in jeopardy and got back on my bike. Nothing would stand in the way of the streak. I disobeyed every line of safety I could think of. I'd see a flashing red hand at a crosswalk and would go anyway. I'd see people walking their dogs on the sidewalk and I would ride through yards and wheel over bushes. As I approached one driveway, a woman extended a cup toward me. I grabbed it as I rode past. I had a slight feeling that she was merely making a greeting gesture and not handing me the cup, as if I was in some French cycling marathon. The suspicions were confirmed when I dumped piping hot coffee on my head. At last BurgerTowne's French fry skyscrapers came into view. Reeking of cinnamon-hazelnut, I approached the restaurant. But as I pushed open the doors, I knew it was all over. There were five cash registers in operation. Each had a line 10 deep. The lunch crowd was in full force; breakfast had ended. "Perhaps there's still an egg or two back there," I thought. "Maybe a sausage patty rests among the hamburgers on the grill. I'd eat it on a hamburger bun if I had to. That would still count, wouldn't it?" I made my way to the counter and caught the eye of Benny, one of the assistant managers. I looked at him with my last bit of hope. He looked down, and feeling my sorrow, grievingly shook his head. Defeated, I shed the poncho and curled up on the BurgerTowne counter. I could feel a fever setting in. It was my first fever in three years. I walked my bike home and mumbled and hated myself the whole way. What could I have done differently? Why did I allow this to happen? Why did I mindlessly stop and sell the vest? When I got home I foolishly tried to fix my own sausage and egg biscuit, thinking it would help soothe my anguish. It just made it worse. As I slept that night, it occurred to me that when I was growing up, my dog ate the same meal everyday for 14 years — dog food. He probably would've wanted something different, but he never asked. When I awoke the next morning I was reminded that the streak had died. But instead of heartache I felt as if an eight-ton egg and sausage biscuit had been lifted from my shoulders. I ate six pieces of toast that morning and felt great.  |
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