I’m a gluttonous ravaging savage your parents warned you about. They told you to take care of the car. I will eat an entire Costco rotisserie chicken behind the wheel, vehicle in motion or otherwise.
Some of my best meals have been inside the confines of a US-manufactured chassis. I recall a time when I ate an entire Subway Cold Cut Combo on the drive from Kent to Hudson in between summer ball games. We were originally scheduled to play at 8 and 2, but because of an early morning rain delay, our 8 o clock game got bumped to 11:30. Final pitch occurred at 1:15. Coach said there was no time to delay the second game, so we had to be at the next game at 2 sharp, just as scheduled. Problem was the next game was 30 minutes away. He told us you better not be fucking late, or you’ll run until we bankrupt a bucket factory from all the puke dispensed from your generous gut. All I had eaten was a Snickers at approximately 7:30 AM. I’m not much of a breakfast person; coffee, stimulant, maybe a gay little French-style treat. But brother let me tell you after this game I could eat Genghis Khan’s entire calvary and still had room for Creme Brûlée with Napoleon. Hunger is man’s greatest curse. An unnecessary necessity driving us into existential slavery. Guess I’ll have Subway. I had carpooled with one of my teammates, and we agreed that we needed sustenance if we were to muster enough strength in the next outing for anything more than a limp-wristed flyout to the right fielder in the 2nd leg of our doubleheader. 1:20 PM now; we have to be at the field by 2 at the latest, so we can take the field by 2:10, per the umpire’s requirement and tournament rules, to avoid a forfeit. The baseball field at Kent is situated on the corner of one of the entry roads to campus and a major state route; if you exit the parking lot and make a right, you will head towards downtown Kent, where you will find the bulk of your standard American fast food lineup. There was no time to venture in that direction. If you make a left out of the baseball field parking lot, you will head back towards the highway, which is where we needed to go. There also so happens to be a greasy little sandwich shop called Subway just off the highway exit. We scurried there and dashed to the cueing section where you selected your bread and meats. Luckily there was no one in line; or else I would’ve had to hold my hand in the shape of a gun underneath my jersey and point it at the workers, forcing them into making the world’s fastest Meatball Sub. Since I was driving, I opted for the most optimal sub sandwich to eat whilst operating heavy machinery - the Cold Cut Combo. The adhesive properties of the industrial grade mayonnaise combined with the artificial cured meats kept the components of the food item in between the sandpaper-esque Italian bread so I would not lose a piece of salami to the floor monster in my Ford Taurus while weaving in and out of traffic on Route 8 North. I don’t remember what my teammate ordered. Hopefully something more edible than plastic ham and soggy lettuce. I love a good meatball sub. I would’ve loved the challenge of caressing the tender jar sauce soaked balls into my mouth. I’ll save the challenge for a snowy day. One of my other teammates loved driving his 2005 silver Buick Le Sabre during the winter. The E brake was located in the perfect position for drifting around slippery corners, Vin Diesel Fast and Furious Style. I do not know the name of his character as I have never seen a single second of a Fast and Furious film, I just know Vin Diesel is a mainstay in the films and probably drifted around a corner at some point in the series. I do wonder what he had chosen to eat during those 45 minutes of pure pandemonium. Probably just a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and a Kit Kat. The gas station is always a safe bet when on the road. The nice thing about a gas station is the abundance of caffeine at one’s disposal. You can get a White Monster, a $0.99 Speedy Cafe 20 ounce coffee, an 8 ounce sugar-free Red Bull, and a few cans of double shot Starbucks Espresso! One time I was out at a local townie bar celebrating a birthday with friends when I caught a hankering for cocaine. It had been a whole eight months since the last time I went skiing in the handicap stall. Of all people, I knew my youngest brother had a few sleazeballs in his contacts. I threw up the Hail Mary via text to my brother, but the ball landed on the turf in the end zone, and we lost the game. He didn’t know of anyone within my area who was selling that night. Oh well. I had a friend who was also fiening. He said he could probably find a bimbo with an Adderall prescription, but it might take all night. Not worth it I said, I have a better idea. We dipped out the gate on the back patio and stumbled over to the GetGo, and we each bought ourselves 4 of those pre-made double shot Starbucks espressos I mentioned earlier. Each can contains 120 milligrams of caffeine; four to the dome in the span of a few minutes would be similar to a couple of thick gator tails off the coffee table, I postulated. So we went out back behind the gas station and I furnished my trusty house key. and we proceeded to form mouth-sized holes in the bottom of each can, leaving the pull tab unopened to preserve the airflow needed for an optimal shot gun chug. and we lined em up and shot em down, and the clerk who had rang us up a few minutes ago had somehow heard the commotion and busted out the back door and told us to scram, and so we did, and on the short 500 foot walk back to the bar we sparked up a Marlboro 100, and few minutes later my friend was being tossed over the fence by the bouncers for puking on the owner’s car, who happened to be parked in the exact spot where my friend had decided to unleash his demons. How unfortunate. A few hours later I ate a leftover Cold Cut Combo I found in the fridge of this girl’s parents’ house.
Onward,
Tony
Humble Wordsmith
Writer Boy
Sandwich Shoppe Savant
Elite At Driving While Eating