Wager
The Golden Arches Wager
REGO'S GIRLFRIEND WILL
probably never forgive me. Can't say as I blame her.
"Would you make that same offer to me?" he asks …
* * *
I had just finished telling the time my son, DJ, bet me he could eat ten dollar's worth of McDonald's at one sitting. At the time, $10 bought three six-packs of chicken McNuggets, a couple large fries, a double cheese burger, a large drink, and a shake. If he succeeded, I'd pay for his meal, plus give him $10 toward his medical expenses.
Hardly concealing my fatherly pride, I reported that he only missed it by three nuggets! I paid for his meal anyway.
"Will you make that same offer to me?" The one asking was Matt Rego. He and his girlfriend had been eavesdropping on my conversation. Still, I considered his question germane.
"That was a long time ago," I say. "I
could prob'ly eat ten dollars's worth today myself."
"Make it $20 then," he counters. "You buy the meal and give me $20 if I win. I give you $20 and buy the meal if I lose."
Being challenged like this in front of my friends, I couldn't very well say no. We agree on a time and a place.
The next day, Matt, his girlfriend, and I meet at a nearby McDonald's at the appointed time.
I want to make sure we're clear on the rules. The clock starts with his first bite. If he can't finish in sixty minutes, he forfeits. He can pick any combination of food and drink on the menu and eat it in any order. If he needs to use the restroom, better do it now. There will be no bathroom breaks after the first bite until the contest ends one way or the other …
Gentlemen, start your engines!
I can see by his order that he's put a lot of thought into this. At the time, McDonald's offered a rather pricey triple-decker --
More meat.
Less bun.
Big bucks.
He orders three of them. He wisely spurns the air-filled shake in favor of several of the smallest Cokes of the four sizes on the menu --
Maximizes expenditure.
Minimize mass.
He manages to exhaust the whole $20 on food that fits comfortably on one tray!
I try to suppress any expression of worry or doubt in the weakening strength of my position.
As we sit down at a corner table, Matt's girlfriend gives me a winner's-circle smile or, should I say, smirk. She has every confidence that her Matt will prevail!
I envy him his girlfriend who has started a mantra that continues to the completion of the event:
"You can do this, Rego!" she coos as she clings to his arm and shoulder. Why she calls him by his last name, I'll never know. It does seem to have a soothing affect on him, bolstering an already-hyper confidence he apparently has with respect to his own digestive system.
Three triple-deckers seemed formidable when huddled together on the tray. Each was taller than I could get my mouth around had I been him.
Matt manages to dispatch two of them in the first twenty minutes, along with the fries, two apple pies and all but one of the small Cokes.
I later learned that part of his strategy had been to intentionally skip breakfast so he'd be ravenously hungry, peaking at the appointed hour.
The only good news, from my perspective anyway, is that he's slowing his caveman pace. Even a couple of loud, hefty, boisterous belches doesn't seem to clear any usable gastrointestinal space. His chewing becomes labored. Then again, all that remained is that last triple-decker and one small Coke. He still has more than half an hour on the clock.
Cheerleader Girlfriend is rubbing his belly as she continues her nonstop motivational mantra.
Hello, what's this?
Matt is slowly setting his burger down. With some deliberation, he raises his gaze to me. "Is it OK if I walk around the building? I could use some air."
I interpret this to mean he wants to move so he can qualify for that message you see on cereal boxes: "Some settling of contents may occur during shipment." It doesn't violate any tenets of our original agreement, so I say, "You can -- if I go with you."
He resolutely picks up his burger and drink.
His girlfriend gives him a beaming look of approval, knowing he got the best of me during that last round of negotiations.
Out the door we three march, with Rego energetically chomping into his remaining mass of meat with gusto.
I begin to wonder if acquiescing to his walking add-on was a good idea. Too late now.
As Rego washes the first third of his burger down with half of his remaining drink, I start to panic.
He has plenty of time. His contents seemed to be settling nicely. What's a mother to do?
Then it hits me like a bolt out of the blue -- a story from my adolescent childhood posted full blown into every available synapse. I casually launch into a monologue:
"Did you hear the one about the guy who bet someone a thousand dollars he could drink a cup of snot?"
Unfazed, Matt chews on.
I continue …
"'I'll take a piece of that!'" someone shouts.
"'Me, too!' another chimes in, while someone else procures the necessary components."
Still having no noticeable affect on my intended audience, I resume telling my story as Matt calmly swallows.
"Without batting an eye, the guy picks up the cup and drains it dry. A wry victory smile blossoms across his glistening mouth. Losers are begrudgingly ponying up their losses. Suddenly his face goes completely white just before he drops his now-empty cup and hurls!"
Still zero on the Rego Richter scale. This, with only two bites and one swallow of Coke to go.
I wasn't finished.
"'Couldn't hold your snot, eh?' one victor taunts as winners slap the poor guy on the back.
"Slowly the loser straightens up to his full height. As he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, he looks his assailant in the eye and says:
"'There was a hair in it.'"
* * *
As I deliver the punch line, Rego stops.
Turns toward me with a stoic expression on his face.
He hands me the last piece of his sandwich.
Then hands me what's left of his Coke.
Then calmly walks around the corner of the building.
If sound can convey the essence of his experience -- he hurled his guts out …
* * *
I pay for his lunch anyway. It was worth every penny!
His girlfriend hasn't spoken to me since.