I’ve searched the whole world over and can’t find a regular size hot dog to save my life.
Seriously, no wonder everyone is fat. You can’t get regular-size anything anymore, unless you want to pay extra for it.
What?
It’s the truth. You can get a gigantic, 44-ounce fountain drink for 99 cents, but if you’d like to have just a normal-person serving size of 20 ounces (which is still double the standard serving size of soft drinks), you pay $1.39 for it. On what planet does this make sense?
I like hot dogs. I’m just going to put it right out there and say I like regular old Oscar Mayer hot dogs, and I don’t care if they’re made form ground-up ear hairs: they taste good and I like them. The perfect balance of meat to bun ratio was achieved by Oscar Mayer, with their regular old hot dog. You remember it, the one purchased in an unassuming yellow and red package, about five and a half inches long and a three-quarter-inch diameter. They fit perfectly in the bun, no ends sticking out and covered neatly along the seam, you could eat two of them and a snack package of Cheetos and have a great little lunch.
Somewhere along the way, these perfect little nitrate-infused wonders morphed into gigantic baby arm-sized tubes of meat, lugubriously lolling over the edges of stressed-out buns. I challenge you to find a regular sized hot dog on a roller rack in a truck stop anymore. They have every manner of huge and gross hot dog you can think of, stuffed with everything from jalapenos to eye of newt. (OK, maybe not eye of newt, but a ton of stuff like cheese and bacon and monkey feet. Right, no monkey feet.) Some of these things look like the giant roasted tails of prehistoric lizards, but you’ll find no regular, boring, normal-sized hot dogs.
The fast food joints in a lot of the stops don’t have small as an option for size of a value meal. You can get medium – which is the equivalent of what large was a few short years ago, and extra-value fat-ass size, which includes a quarter pound of fries and 64 ounces of soda. And this is your best-value option (unless you factor in the cost of a heart attack, which is roughly $150$300K these days).
I wanted a mushroom-Swiss burger from Burger King. The promo advertised a double Whopper with Swiss cheese and mushroom sauce. I can’t stomach a single Whopper, so I asked if I could order the Swiss cheese and mushroom sauce on a regular sized hamburger.
“I can do it, but I’m going to have to charge you for the double Whopper.”
“Why? That’s crazy!”
“I don’t have a menu option for a single with Swiss and mushroom. I can’t put it in the register, but I can tell them to make it special.”
And while this was possibly the dumbest thing anyone had said to me in a long time, I fault myself for allowing it to go on by just giving in and letting the guided-by-menu-options-only clerk charge me almost $5 for a $2 sandwich, because we were in a hurry and I didn’t have time to pitch a fit.
Here’s an important tip for ordering at McDonald’s: Don’t even try to get one apple pie. It’s been secretly decreed somewhere that no one is ever allowed to purchase only one dessert at McDonald’s, ever again. Should you dare try to buy only one pie, you will be publicly shamed by the clerk, and viewed by your peers as the only asshole in the world who didn’t take someone up on an extra apple pie for eleven cents.
“Would you like apple pie with that? Two for a dollar?”
“Actually, one will do. I’ll have one apple pie.”
“You mean two, right? They’re two for a dollar and 89 cents for one.”
“I only want one.”
By this time, everyone in the McDonald’s is staring at you, wondering what kind of idiot you must be to only want one apple pie. You feel compelled to buy the second pie, knowing you’ll eventually eat it, and shouldn’t.
I’m starting the “Regular Size Movement.” I’m going to order Happy Meals without having a child present and refuse to upsize for 99 cents. I will order single pies and (gasp) only purchase two cookies instead of being bullied into a half dozen for 49 cents more.
I have my work cut out for me. Somebody’s gotta do it.
