I'm a whiner. I whine about a lot of things. I'm actually kind of proud of my distinguished whining prowess. I'm also extremely pleased that I can be both a hopeless whiner and a smoking hot specimen of male hunkiness at the same time. What can I say? I'm gifted.
So, anyway, yesterday I was sitting in on a meeting up in the Twin Cities. It was a big and important meeting featuring big and important people within the magazine I write for. And then there was me. When it comes to the magazine I write for, I'm neither big nor important. I'm just kind of there. Now that I think about it, I believe the only reason I'm expected to attend those meetings is because no one trusts me to be in the office all alone. That's probably wise.
Well, while all the big and important people discussed big and important things, my attention was focused on something far more big and important: lunch. I was really hungry and, according to the schedule of events, we were supposed to break for lunch at 11:30 a.m.
Well, 11:45 rolled around, and still we hadn't eaten. In hungry desperation, I futilely underlined the word "lunch" on my schedule so repeatedly, that eventually the ink started to soak through the paper. Finally, the group broke for lunch, and sandwiches were brought in. I could scarcely contain my excitement.
I grabbed a bag of chips and two sandwiches and I scurried back to my seat to inspect the meal. And that's when I saw it: mayonnaise. I hate mayonnaise. I despise mayonnaise. And, when confronted by a sandwich defiled by mayonnaise, I fall back on my old standby: whining.
"Awwww, man, there's mayonnaise all over these things," I groaned, returning the sandwiches to the counter, refusing to eat them.
I don't understand it. At what point in the evolution of the sandwich was it decided that mayonnaise should be a required component? And, more than that, why is mayonnaise so liberally slathered on a sandwich? I mean, I could probably deal with mayonnaise if it weren't smeared all over the place. I could take a knife and remove the offensive gunk if it weren't so omnipresent.
As it is, mayonnaise is spread all over the place, with the thickness of toothpaste. There is no way to reclaim a sandwich once modern day portions of mayonnaise are applied. It's a lost cause. It gets all over the lettuce, which is ruined, and it finds its way into the deepest fibers of the bun or bread. Once introduced to the pristine sandwich environment, you see, mayonnaise stages a massive takeover.
It's hard to explain my disdain for mayonnaise, beyond the fact that I just can't stand the taste. I have a violent reaction to the taste of mayonnaise, by which I mean I spit it out and scrub my tongue with a napkin. I think it says volumes about mayonnaise that the biggest mayonnaise company out there is called Hellmans, because when I bite into a sandwich with mayonnaise glued in there, I think, "Yuck! What the hell, man?!"
And, you know, I don't think I'm the only mayonnaise hater out there. I think there are legions upon legions of fellow mayo haters who are sick and tired of restaurants just assuming that we want our burgers iced with mayonnaise. What gives them the right to decide what we want on our food? Knock it off! Stop pushing your pro-mayo political agenda on the rest of us!
And if you don't stop with the mayonnaise, I'll have to reach deep down and break out my hidden weapon.
I'll whine.
Posted by Ryan at January 22, 2004 11:44 AM
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