My Burger King Conflict

So I have this thing with Burger King. It's some kind of inner-personal conflict. I ate breakfast at Burger King in Gainesville, Florida and the lady that took our order was popping a lot of pills right before she took our order. After popping the pills she did some quick head shake move, gave us a "you better run" grin, and went on to ask us what we wanted to eat. Ten minutes later, while cleaning the restaurant, she put a St. Patrick's day hat on my head, while I was eating. This was after we had driven 24 hours on a bus to get to Florida on the band trip last week. It was needless to say, a crazy adventure at Burger King.

Last summer I had ordered a king size drink at Burger King with my meal and had it spill all over my lap and car seat, on my way to work. I spent the next five minutes attempting to clean up the mess and marveling at my stupidity for ordering something bigger than my van's cup-holder could handle. Dr. Pepper sure feels good on your pants. So begins today's story.

On my way to the club today (that's work, not play), I was compelled to get Burger King. I was running late on time, hadn't ate today, and it's the closest place to where I was headed. I knew I was really hungry and I wasn't going to be eating for quite a long time. I decided it was time for a king-sized Double Cheeseburger value meal. Five dollars and twenty-four cents later I was on my way. Knowing my previous conflicts with the drink I was well aware of the fate that lie ahead for me. I figured I should be good though, I have a different car now (white 1998 Plymouth Breeze).

I left the parking lot, hadn't spilled the drink yet (a step up from my last king-sized drink). Success, right? No. I drove across the street, through one stop light and then came my mistake. I wanted a drink, just one drink. I couldn't resist.

Splash!

All down the front of my blue pullover jacket and white shorts goes Dr. Pepper. I arrived at the club parking lot a mere one minute later, drenched in my lunch. I sucked it up and walked in the door. Sadly, no one said anything. They wouldn't even give me the satisfaction of making up some smooth excuse.

The moral of the story is, stay away from the king-sized drinks at Burger King. They're great, if you can hold them. They're not too great on your pants.

For those of you that really know me (or have enjoyed even just one meal with me) you're probably well-accustomed to the fact that I spill on myself all the time and find this story predictable. For those of you that don't know me too well, I'm happy you're now aware that I seem to have the worst luck when it comes to eating.

I'm going to go back enjoying wearing my half-brown white shorts now.