The most grown-up thing in the world in choosing a health care plan. Since I have changed employers, I have had a 'qualifying life event,' that provides me the opportunity to choose a new health care plan, and because at the end of the month my former employer's plan is over.
So I guess I need to choose a plan this week.
I found it interesting that after checking boxes both that said I was A) non-smoker B)Declining chemical dependency care C)Healthy as a horse; that all I really wanted to do was go eat that Double Down Sandwich from KFC.
I couldn't control the thoughts. I really wanted to eat that sandwich. As a culinary adventurer, I felt it was my duty to eat that sandwich.
You know that sandwich, the one with bacon, cheese and sauce sandwiched between two fried chicken breasts.
I don't like bacon.
But I must eat that sandwich.
No, I must pick a health care plan.
So I went for the sandwich. One of the advantages of the new job is my mighty fine location a breath away from my favorite food location in all of the Twin Cities, the Midtown Global Market.
That is not where that sandwich lives. The sandwich lives at KFC across the street from the Midtown Global Market.
I went there. It was empty except for the grey-haired couple in front of me. I see so many signs for the sandwich everywhere. Did you know that you can order the Double Down Sandwich grilled? The elderly couple in front of me was taking a long time to decided what to order. I was having seconds thoughts. I haven't eaten at a fast food restaurant in almost a year, what was I doing standing in a KFC? I eat meat for entertainment (make sex jokes now) and have been thoroughly entertained without the meat (the food) in that past few weeks. Why am I here?
I am here for the sandwich.
The old woman in front of me asks the cashier, "What's that sandwich that everyone is taking about?"
I want to scream, "THE DOUBLE DOWN SANDWICH!" The sandwich's headshots are plastered all over the restaurant. It was like going in to Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. and kept asking what movie did Tom Hanks, ride a lawn mower, grew a bread and meat fifteen presidents while playing ping pong in a storm of slow floating feathers.
The old woman orders the sandwich, I fear for her life. I fear for my life before that sandwich and I can at least read the menu.
Finally, its my turn. I order that sandwich, original (code for FRIED) not grilled. I am going all out on this one. And I order a side of baked beans for strategy (I thought they would be a good escort to usher the Double Down out before I was doubled over.)
The sandwich arrived (all over my face).
It was much smaller that expected (more sex jokes now). Even with its small stature, it was inviting (sex jokes). It was a surprising mouthful (sex jokes). The chicken breasts are much more dense than bread and then with the added bacon sauce and cheese party it was a little difficult to eat. What I noticed most was the salt. It was a salt bomb on the remote un-warring island of my taste buds. The cheese was OK and the sauce was exciting!! Sauce and cheese, but the sandwich didn't thrill me.
Because I forgot one thing.
I hate chicken.
Really, chicken is to food as platinum blond is to a life-changing makeover. Easy and boring.
I wanted to like the sandwich. I wanted it to be made of ground chicken patties, not chicken breasts. Chicken patties would be more like bread, easier to bite into and not as boring. I really wanted to like the sandwich, I wanted it to become a secret vice of mine (I haven't had a secret vice since the beginning of my first semester of college when I would drive around the streets of Dubuque alone eating dinner from fast food restaurants in my car, yeah, freshman fifteen hello, you're the first person I've told this to, so Internet, I obviously love you.)
Simple bean shot!
So I had eaten the sandwich. I don't regret it, not do I rush to repeat it. Stupid sandwich, dashed hopes.
I hate you sandwich.
But I still wanted to love you...