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The time we ate a lot of junk for no apparent reason.
We were bored.
Looking back, that’s the only reason we can give when someone asks us why we did it. It seems like something a bunch of stoners might do, but we weren’t a bunch of stoners. We were a bunch of drunks, but it was morning, so we weren’t drunk yet. And we couldn’t have been super hungover, because it involved a decent amount of not being on the couch watching SportsCenter.
So, it had to be boredom.
We were bored in a crappy college apartment on 63rd Street in Philadelphia. To get onto I-76 from there, it was a 2.5 mile jaunt up the highly-commercialized Route 1 (City Avenue). Between our driveway and the onramp there were exactly 14 fast food restaurants, and throughout our years at school we’d often joke about how utterly disgusting it would be to try to eat at all of them.
And on this particular day our level of boredom finally reached a boiling point and we decided it was time to attempt this sickening feat. After all, we needed to feel something. It might as well be gastrointestinal fury. The wagons were circled, the troops were rallied. We were going to conquer the City Avenue Fast Food Gauntlet once and for all.
Five of us piled into my bright blue ‘03 Saturn Ion, carefully selected a pop punk album from Jake's iPod, manually cranked down the windows, and blasted my aftermarket speakers that cost more than the car itself.
Over Brandon Urie’s nasally drone, we laid down the ground rules. At each stop along the Gauntlet’s path, each of us would need to eat at least $1 worth of food. You could order whatever you wanted to drink, but liquids didn’t count towards your total. Milkshakes were approved, but not advisable (for obvious reasons). Oh, and no fucking salads. If you quit, pooped, or puked, you were out. The last man standing would technically “win”, but for true legend status, you had to finish the whole damn thing.
We tackled the McDonald’s Dollar Menu with ease and cruised through Taco Bell, Dunkin’, Burger King, Starbucks, KFC, and Popeye’s without much trouble, although our future cardiologists will probably be thanking West Philadelphia’s love of fried chicken for the back-to-back drumstick consumption.
Things got serious as we had to tackle Pizza Hut next. We had just doubled up on chicken during the last two stops, so wings were out. Each of us had to listen to our bodies and decide which carbs-and-cheese laden menu item would be the easiest to scarf down. I ended up going with the mozz sticks, which might seem smart until you think about how gross it actually is to eat a half dozen string cheeses in one sitting.
After that, we were hurting.
We stalled for time by getting into a pretty heated argument over whether Five Guys should count as fast food. Jake “actually-ed” us as usual about it actually being fast casual. But in the end, the more glutinous majority won out and we headed across the street to pursue our red-and-white checkered destiny. Still reeling from a stuffed crust personal pan pizza and objecting on principle to Five Guys’ eligibility, Jake tapped out at the first whiff of peanut oil as we walked in the door. I verbally abused him while dunking my hot dog bun in water like a pro and four of us ventured onto the next destination.
Subway and Quiznos both loomed next on the list. Surprisingly, they claimed no victims as the whole gang was now adopting the bread-dunking strategy I had employed at Five Guys. A few gulps of processed meat had us moving right along to the Gauntlet’s biggest test so far. A beast that is known and feared by all who enter the fast food realm. None other than Chipotle.
“No fucking way,” said Tom who was gagging and spitting in the parking lot. He threw in the towel at the mere sight of the place, sitting down on the curb with his head in his hands.
Always the biggest Chipotle lover of the group, AJ rushed forward immediately and began ordering a quesadilla like a total amateur. He struggled through a few bites but the congealed cheese proved to be too powerful a foe, even for the man who once drunkenly did shots of the Chipotle Tabasco sauce.
Kirk and I wised up and morosely pecked our way through an order of chips and salsa. Pacing was going to be hugely important if we wanted to vanquish the Gauntlet once and for all.
Unfortunately for Kirk, the second-to-last stop on this food tour from hell was Boston Market. Another vicious debate broke out here as Tom tried to veto the fresh steamed vegetable side dish for violating the “no fucking salads” rule. Clearly Jake and AJ knew he was full of shit, but upheld the veto anyway just to punish and torture us (as all best friends do). That left Kirk and I with a harrowing choice between creamed spinach, mashed potatoes, or mac and cheese.
I’m honestly curious what our readers would have done in this situation. It was a real Sophie’s choice. Both of us opted for a side of cheesy rotini and went to work.
At this point Kirk was a sickening shade of green, and although he is the most unabashedly competitive and stubborn person I know, he is also way too shame-averse to vomit in public. His fifth bite of creamy goodness would prove to be his last.
I was the last man standing, but there was still glory to seek. The last stop on the City Avenue Fast Food Gauntlet was Wendy’s. I had the ultimate prize in my sights. Wendy’s, another dollar menu establishment, was going to be a slam dunk. Despite the 6,000 calories I had consumed in the past two hours, I was practically skipping my way towards that redheaded slut.
Before this tale’s thrilling conclusion, I would like to briefly recap what I had eaten so far:
McDonald’s: 4 piece nuggets with honey mustard
Taco Bell: 1 soft taco
Dunkin’: Hash browns
Burger King: Small onion rings
Starbucks: 1 cake pop
KFC: 1 drumstick
Popeye’s: 1 drumstick
Pizza Hut: 6 mozzarella sticks
Five Guys: 1 plain hot dog
Subway: 6-inch turkey and cheese sub, no toppings
Quiznos: Mesquite chicken sammie
Chipotle: Chips and salsa
Boston Market: Side of mac and cheese
I had been strategically saving my favorite fast food item, the humble french fry, for last. I thought it would be an easy win to house a small order of piping hot potatoes, but destiny was about to perform a hard stomp on my spasming butthole. Moments after ordering, I was informed that the restaurant was all out of ketchup!
On a normal day, this would be enough to get me to leave Wendy's in a huff, threatening to complain to the corporate office. On a day where I had already stretched my stomach to its outer limits and was furiously holding back an epic dump, this could not possibly stand. I argued to the group that I should be allowed to take the fries home and use ketchup from my fridge. But, as they had already demonstrated at Boston Market, my friends suck.
They forced me to eat those fries dry as a bone. And even though I had come so far and conquered so much on that fateful day, I couldn’t do it. My body had failed me. Every bite of starchy potato I tried to swallow was harshly rejected by a gag reflex that had simply had enough with my stupid life choices.
I was done. I hung my head in shame, walked to the Wendy’s bathroom, and gave them some foul, horrible payback for not restocking their Heinz supply.
All of us shat hot lava every 25 minutes for the next three days. We even had to cancel a few Monopoly games. We tried to conquer boredom, but in the end, boredom won.