Nothing breaks up the monotony of a day at the office like a one hour lunch break, amirite? That first second of bursting out of the door only to be blinded by the sunlight you barely knew existed because it's dark when you arrive at work and dark again when you leave, is a priceless gift for those us in the 3W (Work Without Windows) category. These days of grays have lessened that excitement, however, and in these bitter cold months I balance out my desire to stay warm against my desire to see natural light (especially when that light is alarmingly similar to the dim bulbs in one's windowless office). Since my return to work after the holidays, I've been lazily opting for lunch in as to avoid the hassle of layering on my many winter accouterments aimed at protecting my youthful visage from the lip chapping gusts of death. Though, early this afternoon I heard rumors of pleasant weather, and when I peeked out from my office door and glanced down the hall I could see the sun dancing into the window of a co-worker who is luckier than I. Seeing my moment, I snagged my coat (Fuck the hat! Fuck the scarf! There's no time! The sun! The sun!) and rushed out of my 3W torment, buttons unsnapped.
I didn't notice my coat flapping in the 40 degree breeze because I was too busy analzing my glamourous lunch options. Chipotle? Noodles and Company? Panera? Jimmy John's? I had 15 bucks in my pocket and the suburban high class fast food restaurant chains were mine for the taking. I could even order Bob Evans to go if I wanted. If I dared. Upon igniting the engine of my trusty steed, however, the choice was already made for me. By the time I had steered out of the parking lot, NPR already had me hooked on some author/psychologist interview about how the brain works in relation to blah blah blah. I don't actually remember it very well now, but then, boy howdy! It was quite the show, and I was hooked. Immediately I knew the book eagerly awaiting it's binding breaking silently in the bottom of my tote was going to have to wait until tomorrow, because today was a radio kind of day which made it a Burger King kind of lunch.
Before you call me out, I'll beat you to the punch, yeah, the BK Veggie burger even served without mayo is not totally vegan. It has some crummy egg whites in it, but there wasn't anything getting my selfish ass out of the car at that moment. Sorry male chicks, I know they grind you up because you can't lay eggs. I'll try harder in the future. I'll tell you what is vegan, though, the french fries. And my favorite thing about ordering french fries at Burger King is the chance to catch a rogue onion ring or two. I adore onion rings, although, I'm sure we can all agree that the ones at BK are a far cry from the mouth watering taste bud treat that is County Fair Onion Rings, a true gift from the universe.
Despite their obvious inferiority, the BK onion rings are still quite a delight, but not so much so that I feel compelled to order them with my meal. But it is that very abstinence from the onion ring that makes brushing one's fingers against their rough crispy shell when digging for the long, smooth french fry so enchanting. "What is this? An onion ring? In my french fry carton? How preposterous! How capricious! How utterly marvelous!" So imagine now, that while happily munching on a medium order of french fries your hand coils around, not one, not two, but FOUR onion rings. That's what happened! To me! FOUR ONION RINGS. I know, I know. Will wonders never cease?! The answers is yes, after four onion rings, wonders do cease, but it didn't matter because I had just consumed four unaccounted for onion rings. And before you pity my now ceased wonder, lemme tell you, it's not all down hill after that because the sheer excitement of those fried little circles of joy lasted me throughout the rest of my 3W day. It no longer mattered that my office was a dark cave hidden from the blissful rays of the sun, because I had an inordinate amount of surprise onion rings in my tummy and I knew that I was special.