Last night I did a thing I'm not proud of. It's something I'd always wondered about but had been too afraid to try. We were drunk and it was late, after midnight. My friend told me he wouldn't do it, that it was disgusting and wrong and shameful. He said if I tried it he would leave. But it had to be done. I wasn't sure he'd cooperate but it was a chance I was willing to take. I reached into my pocket and entered my location. Within minutes the car arrived. We stood in the street, at Fillmore and McAllister, and when the car pulled up he refused to get in. He told me he'd call his own car, that he wanted no part of it, and he stormed off down the block. Alone, I opened the door, hesitating, wondering whether the driver would judge me. "Hello," I said, "don't drive off just yet. I have a question for you and it might seem strange." He looked at me in the rearview mirror awaiting my request; not nodding, not smiling, not blinking not anything. And then I said it.
I need you to take me to the McDonald's drive through.
He didn't say anything at first. The car was idling in the middle of the street, blocking traffic, if there had been any. Was I too forceful? Had it come across as a demand instead of an earnest plea? Damn it, I'd insulted him, ordered him to take me there like he was my goddamned chauffeur. Wait a minute, he was my chauffeur! What had I felt bashful about? I have needs and desires like any other man. I get hungry! There's nothing wrong with that. But what if he was judging my dietary habits? Did I look fat in this shirt? Technically this was the second time in less than a week that I found myself at this very drive through. And this time I intended to order something much more obscene than before. My standard Big Mac, fries, Oreo McFlurry and apple pie wouldn't be enough tonight. No. Tonight I would order two Big Macs, a large fry, twice as many apple pies and an Oreo McFlurry. Clearly I wasn't fucking around, and if this prick was going to try and tell me he wasn't driving me where I wanted to go, he was gonna have it. In the rearview mirror the shiny resolve in my eyes met his like lasers and I waited for him to try and tell me no. Every inch of my being was insistent, unflappable, ferociously calm and unwavering. I was the golden god of the golden arches.
Something about his mirror was strange. It was too long, and the image was too sharp. It looked like a 4k flat-screen television in Best Buy. How hadn't I noticed this before? I wondered if he was a cop. His clean-cut Asian face stared back at me expressionless. Could I be arrested for this? Could he? Sure it was true that I'd met my daily burger allotment; I'd had three sloppy joes for lunch and a bar burger for dinner. Yes, this was definitely criminal. Fugitive fat cells in my blood breached the blood-brain-barrier and commandeered the ship. There was no other explanation for my actions. I was a victim, at the mercy of an insatiable, cellulite heart. What was I doing here, pudgy faced, sitting in the back seat of a stranger's car, exposing my dark desires to him like a fast food exhibitionist. Oh god, this was awful and awkward and I regretted everything. My friend was right to leave me. Why hadn't I listened to him? Oh god. This was terrible. I was terrible. I'd made him terrible by association, by asking him to do a thing that was terrible. If I could take it all back I would. In an instant!
Suddenly he smiled. "Sure," he said, "you are stoned?"
Yes....yes I am.
I wasn't sure what gave it away but it didn't matter; my dreams were coming true. I was having it my way, and lovin' it. The hot bag in my hands made me warm and fuzzy. Suddenly I loved him. I bought him a sweet tea, because he was sweet to me. But the bag. The hot, sweet smelling bag of taboo indulgence. Its aroma spiraled up into my nose and made my mouth wet. The thought of getting home and devouring its contents made me giddy. Unable to take it anymore, I got out of the car and started running madly to my door. My feet thundered up the stairs and I was panting like a dog. I kicked off my shoes and dove headfirst through my door, splintering it badly. With one hand, in a single, swooping motion, I rolled a joint and smoked it. With the other hand I brought the delicious sesame seed bun to my mouth and opened sesame. A rhapsody of satanic flavor and lecherous texture consumed me. The force of my hedonism catapulted me somewhere depraved and immoral, but the world seemed a better place.
The rest is a blur. I fell asleep in my bed with the lights on, a smear of special sauce on my lips.
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