Monday, May 23, 2005

Disregard the disclaimer.

I'm still having fun with Blog Explosion. I haven't gone there daily for a long time, but I go maybe once a week and surf a while. And I see that many of you still like to play with BE, too.

What happened to all the good drive-ins? There used to be several locally-owned drive-in restaurants in this town, and now there is one. Some towns don't have any now, so I guess we're a little bit lucky. Maybe they've gone the way of drive-in movie theaters. This town used to have two and now we have none.

Hamburgers at fast-food chains aren't really hamburgers. You young people don't even know that, do you. Well, some of you have never had a real burger in your lives, if the only ones you get are from McDonald's.

This town used to have a really awesome drive-in restaurant on the east side. You know, on the same site as Poky Treat Ice Cream. (It's really Jiffy Treat but holy cow, they are soooo slow! The kids started calling it Poky Treat back before they were in kindergarten.) (Yes, my kids are snarky.) (I always encouraged it.) (And the place really is that slow.)

That now-defunct drive-in had the best burgers in the world. But after the Senior Class President worked there and was fired there, my confidence in their quality kind of waned.

The President of the Senior Class got at job at the site-now-known-as-Poky Treat. One Friday night, Prez was working in the kitchen there when a carload of his buddies pulled up. The carhop took their order and brought it back to the Prez. He looked up to see a convertible FULL of guys waving at him, and giving every indication of mockery due to the fact they he was working and they were free to quill all the hangouts and meet chicks. It became obvious to Prez that his friends had stopped there for supper mainly to taunt him. In a good-natured testosterone-filled way, of course.

Prez looked around the kitchen to see if there was any way he could escape for a few minutes, but there was none. He did notice, however, a no-pest strip hanging from the middle of the ceiling. For those of you who are young, a no-pest strip was a ribbon of insect poison, designed to lure bugs and kill them in mid-air. They then fell to the ground, where they had to be swept up regularly lest they become a mountain. Yes, restaurants had them in the kitchen. Above the counters where your food was prepared.

Prez noticed that the floor beneath the no-pest strip hadn't been swept for a while. He hesitated, knowing that his idea was horrible and wondering if he had the guts to do it. His friends honked the horn one time too many. The deed was as good as done.

Prez scooped up a few handfuls of dead insects, mixed them with a little grease, formed them into burgers, and put them on the buns with some lettuce, pickles, and a slice of tomato. He wrapped the bugburgers in that filmy wax paper they used back then, and put them on the carryout tray. The carhop picked up the tray. She exited the kitchen.

Prez waited for the guys to start laughing and honking the horn at him.

It didn't happen. The carhop took the tray to the wrong car. A car full of old ladies.

Old ladies who did not check under the bun before they bit.

Old ladies who could scream really loudly.

Prez was fired on the spot. He jumped into the car with his friends and left to go elsewhere and pick up chicks.

Two days later, he was hired at the local Kentucky Fried Chicken, where they put him in the kitchen and told him to make cole slaw. He was given no instructions. No recipe. He put something together and the local KFC sold it all night long. There were no complaints, so it must have been made with food.

To this day, I always check under the bun before I bite. This statement may be interpreted in any way you wish.

Prez is a successful businessman now. He still laughs about the no-pest-strip bugburgers and the KFC mystery slaw.

I hadn't thought of this in years. But another high school reunion is coming up, and Prez always speaks. At least, they tell me he does. I haven't been to a reunion in years. For one thing, they're too darn expensive, especially now. And for another, I don't want my old classmates to begin any rehash of the evening by saying "Damn, she sure got fat!"

That is why I prefer to be the mysterious no-show, staying home and snarfing down burgers, the buns of which I have lifted and the contents of which I have thoroughly inspected.

Come on over and have one. I have plenty of condiments.

Disclaimer: any innuendoes in the above post were purely accidental.