My friend Jay has wondered, every year around this time, whether Wendy's has April 20th circled on their calendars as their busiest day of the year.
Several years ago we attempted to put their "Double Your Beef For 89¢" policy to the test.
The thinking was simple:
- A Wendy's Classic Double (two 1/4 lb. beef patties) costs more than 89¢ more than a Wendy's Classic Single (only one 1/4 lb. patty). Therefore, every time someone ordered a Classic Single with Double Beef, Wendy's lost money.
- Would "THEY" allow a patron to order their (then) largest sandwich, a Classic Triple, with Double Beef, thereby losing several dollars in the transaction?
"I- I don't know," the boy said. "Like, I really don't know if the computers can do that. We can … we can try?"
So they tried. The young man raised his hand and pressed into the keypad tentatively the button for a Classic Triple Meal, then, as if going in for his first play at second base and fully expecting to get slapped, brought his pointer down on the key marked "DBL BF."
A pleased chirp sounded from the machine. Everyone eased their cringing and opened an eye to peak down at the computer. The world had not imploded. The bill did not divide by zero. Everyone was safe.
"Oh. Okay. Awesome," the albino sighed. "Medium or large?"
"Oh, large," Jay replied.
"Uh, Coke? No ice?"
"Okay. Anything else?"
"Yeah, a small frosty and a five-piece nuggets?"
The albino choked on a giggle.
"And can I get barbecue and honey mustard for those?"
"Sure," the boy still giggled, trying to remain professional as he read back the order. "Oh, did you want cheese on that?" his smirk was hard to hide.
"Oh, yeah! Thanks!" Jay exclaimed. At this our young albino friend nearly fell over. Tears huddled in the corners of his eyes as he was paid by a group of men each chipping in a few dollars for Jay's daring meal.
The rest of us began to order as Jay's pound-and-a-half of sizzled beef was prepared. In the middle of one order the little Ecuadorian woman working the grill came out. Standing just 4'10" or so, she warbled to her pale companion, pointing at Jay's order glowing green on her progress screen.
"Hoe meny patty he wan?"
"Uh, he wants six."
"Fo?" She held up four minute fingers.
"SIX." We held up extra fingers. We said "seis" in our limited, high school Spanish accents, put up three fingers on each hand and then smashed them together in mime of a delicious nuclear fission.
"SEECE!?" the lady finally understood? "He wan seece patty?! No! No," she turned to Jay, "You cannoh hah seece patty. Fo," she held up four fingers again. "You can hah fo patty."
We argued on principle; the computer accepted the order, the ad held no restrictions. We demanded our monstrosity burger.
The assistant manager came out. The Manager manager came out. He claimed the deal only applied to Classic Singles and Doubles, then invoked the participating locations clause that supersedes all custom orders.
We were informed we could have a Triple, a Double doubled, or nothing at all.
Assholes, we each chipped in another dollar each and ordered Jay two Triples.
When we sat down, Jay pealed the top bun off one sandwich and the bottom off the other, slamming them together and finally making the Classic Sextuple we had all craved.
As he ate, Jay found the condiments began melting the buns off his mega-burger. In fact he burned through both sets of buns, beef juice and lettuce water dripping down his hands and leaving him with nothing but a meaty, moist collection of ketchup-and-cheese flavored goo.
The idea to impale it all with an extra straw was, I believe, my idea. Forcefully skewered, Jay regained the use of one hand to quench his thirst and wipe the beef leavings from his face. With no other patrons in the restaurant, the wait staff looked on in fear and amazement.
As Jay sat, staring at the last few bites, Dean said the following:
"Jay! I had to be home ten minutes ago and I still have to drop you off first."
"Okay," Jay said, eyes bleary and sweating beef.
"No," said Dean, "You live in the opposite direction. I;m going through the drive-thru to get my food and then I'm honking. If you're not out there in thirty seconds, I'm leaving."
"Alright … Dude!"
"What?" Dean was half-way out the door.
A smile crept over Jay's meat-intoxicated face. "Get me a five-piece?"
For the last five bites, Jay got into a rhythm of eating, swallowing, and then setting the remainder down to go into the bathroom just in case he was going to throw up the whole mess. Shockingly, this never happened and Jay finished his meal to the applause of all his friends and everyone behind the counter at Wendy's.
The point of this story, kiddies, is you can eat absolutely insane, incredible things without ever getting stoned.
But why start a fire with twigs when you've got a perfectly good lighter in your pocket?