I have arrived at the dubious conclusion that I might be okay. Yeah. It sounds pretty true when I say it out loud to myself in a coffee shop. I’m the guy wearing sunglasses indoors and scowling, come say hello! I used to joke with my friends that, like a pre-Abed, my understanding of emotional processing came from watching feature-length films, it took me three hours or less to work my way through feeling poorly, or having trouble, or getting screwed over.
In this case, it might have worked. I’m feeling harder today. My car is getting repaired and I’m approaching the realization every sentient asshole figures out sooner or later: nothing is forever and people who are smarter and have 100% more bricks than you do will take your things if they feel like it. Fine. I sang Jim Croce’s version of ‘Bad, Bad Leroy Brown’ to myself three times and now I’m over it.
So, thank you, robber. I can finally live a life thoroughly unencumbered of all sentimentality. Vincent Vega said that you don’t fuck with another man’s vehicle. It’s just the rules. But you might not have known that, Pulp Fiction being an echelon of modern-day pop culture and you being the kind who skulks around stealing briefcases, so, this, as all odd, life-changing events are, is a chance to restart, like a chrysalis hatching in inner-city Missouri. My first order of business? White Castle. I went on my way into town on a whim and rumor of waffle sliders. It’s burger time, baby. My stiff upper lip is smeared with gravy and coffee. Yeah, I’ll be okay.
The new waffle sliders come in three varieties: breakfast and chicken. Breakfast waffles are for bush-league babies, so I went for the slider of the poultry-based ilk. Oddly, this sandwich incorporates bacon gravy with chicken…with waffles. My loose understanding of this cuisine is a bit like a Venn-Diagram. Gravy and chicken go together. Waffles and chicken go together. Gravy and waffles do not go together unless you have pica, to my knowledge.The big hullabaloo behind these sliders is that the waffles are supposedly delicate little lieges imported from Belgium. Perhaps this is true. That being said, the peanuts that you snag from your Air Cancun flight are still technically imported and international. The same might go for these waffles- I have half a mind to believe this is little more than an underhanded promotion between White Castle and Brussels Air to revive the ill-rated Air Belgium, because these waffles taste all but complimentary and in accordance with mid-90’s flotation safety regulations. That being said, the sandwich was tasty, in the way that anything sweet and greasy is tasty- temporarily so, until reality sets in on your digestive tract mere hours later. The waffles were tender with a buttery crisp but very obviously frozen and microwaved. Eggos for the discerning gentleman, if you will. The remainder of the sandwich was innocuous enough- a toasted slice of breaded chicken and gravy that didn’t suck, according to my very Yankee palate. Inoffensive, but lacking the overall cohesion that chicken and waffles with syrup manages. Nice, fairly large pieces of bacon in the gravy and an empty restaurant to photograph every potential angle of a waffle sandwich in made for a decent enough experience. So much for Kansas City barbecue. I leave Missouri in a few hours, give or take a window repair, with little more than moments of gestalt, a slider, and unremarkable Italian food. Ciao. Arkansas, I’m ready to work.