I pack my lunch Mon-Thu and get some tasty fast food on Fridays. Every week I go into Arby’s, order one of maybe three options, and enjoy a hot fattening meal in peace with a grin across my stuffed face. After two years, I’ve become a regular there. They know my name without asking, they give me free drinks and fries if the managers aren’t paying attention, it’s not a bad arrangement.
However, as you may have heard, my back breaks occasionally, and The Doctor says I need a stronger core. I’m still not sure how to improve upon my chiseled titanium abdomen, but it could always be better. And fast food is not helping that cause.
For two weeks now, I’ve pulled into a grocery store near work and cleaned out their salad bar instead of going to Arby’s. I know it’s just a matter of time before they go into their back office and cross my name of their list of valued customers. Arby’s stock will drop, employees will be laid off and forced into a life of crime, restaurants will stand abandoned like rotting corpses in a dilapidated parking lot.
But a huge salad and a bagel feels much better than an instantly regrettable Chicken Bacon Swiss Sandwich.