Temporarily Decision Making Impairment

I firmly believe that I have a genetic deficit which temporarily renders me unable to process all important data and make an informed decision. The following story exemplifies this deficit taken from a journal of the bachelor party (a week long festival) that I composed to relish the good times. The story begins after I leave work to get together with my friends to tailgate for a Tigers game:

On my journey from suburbia to the urban center, I was informed by my good friends that they were currently lacking in nutritional sustenance and requested that I commandeer some food items (read: pizza) that would nicely accompany their fine beverages .I obliged, however, instead of opting for the fine, crusty, Italian delicacy, I chose rather to substitute it for something more appropriate for our geographic location. Truthfully, because the exit where I know a pizza joint existed was backed-up to Illinois, I exited near the ballpark and decided to find what I could.

Like a shining beacon from heaven, I saw the White Castle sign gleaming high above the urban decay. In response to the prophetic indication, I pulled into the drive through and surveyed my options. Clearly, one choice stood out above the others. The “Crave Case” featured thirty (yes, thirty) delicious bite-sized morsels of hamburger heaven all cleanly packaged in a brief-case, which is fitting, because I was all business at that moment. Partially because I was famished from my first full day of manual labor (if you can call moving flowers that) and partially because I have a penchant for consuming ungodly amounts of food, I swiftly made my order and then without a moments hesitation doubled it.

Now, I am sure many of you have experienced the momentary sensation that I experienced. After ordering two crave cases at $12.99 adding cheese at another 20 cents a burger and throwing in a jug of iced tea because I was thirsty, I looked at the $40 total and winced. What did I just do? I couldn’t cancel the order, so I swallowed my pride, drove up to the window and waited eternally for the find staff to prepare sixty burgers. I thought about instantly handing one back and telling the cashier to split it up between the dozen cars which had to wait for the preparation of my blunder.

Instead, I made my way to the tailgate and sheepishly exited my Buick. “Pizza!?” the guys shouted in excitement. I feigned excitement, “something better: White Castle.” The boys shrunk back in unison. I pulled them out explaining how they couldn’t be that bad but the guys insisted they were putrid. Of course, I knew as they did, that none of us white suburbanites (or rural folk) had even let the greasy goodness of a White Castle slider touch or lips. However, as soon as we did, we knew that we had just ruined a lifetime of good decision making. Nonetheless, we collectively (save one wise sole) muscled down thirty of them.

As our stomachs curdled, we collectively realized that we had in fact an entire crave case to give away. Partially intelligently, partially emboldened by said previous consumption, we decided to dole out the bite-sized burgers to whoever we could, especially the homeless. As we passed a few final cans through the chain link fence encasing the parking lot, I offered the men some White Castles. They obliged, thanked me profusely and informed me that these burgers were in fact the very things that they intended to purchase with the money collected from our empty beer cans.

As we proceeded down the main drag, I toting my business like brief case of burgers in hand, I began to realize that people weren’t going to just come up to me and ask for the burgers. So I called out that they were available. A father with two kids told his kids to go and get one from me. The older hesitantly obliged and walked off with his first (and likely last) white castle. After passing a couple more out to the dad and doling out some to another homeless man, we got creative. Kevin purchased a delicious bag of classic salted baseball food; I went general-store-style and tried to barter with the peanut vender. I walked off with four less burgers and two bags of peanuts. The vendor lost a couple bags of peanuts but gained not two tasty sandwiches, but also the promise of the requisite accompanying gastrointestinal problems.

Finally, the briefcase was emptied to the satisfaction of many a hungry looking homeless man. Guys begging for spare change were happy to have a few dimes worth of food as well.