When I was ten years old, I went on vacation with my grandparents. Now, a couple things you have to understand about my grandpa is that:
1. He was a trucker for 30 years
2. He grew up very poor.
Somehow, this manifested into him being all about gas station food and also insisting on eating every last bite of food he purchased for himself or anybody else. You waste nothing—ever.
Anyway.
We pull up to some random gas station in the middle of nowhere. I’m starving to death and see that on their menu they have BLTs, but not just any BLT, but THE MONSTER BLT. Being a stupid kid, I didn’t even read the description. I like bacon. So why not?
So I said, “Hey Gramps, will you buy me this BLT?”
In his rugged accent he says “I buy it, you eat it.”
I swear to God he sounds just like Clint Eastwood.
So I think well yeah I’m going to eat it. Why wouldn’t I eat it?
So a few minutes later, the gas station lady pushes something that looks like this across the counter toward me:
My palms got sweaty. But I was up for the challenge. I actually believed my 60 lb. self could handle a sandwich of this magnitude.
About a quarter of the way into it, I was trying to think of ways to get rid of the thing. Maybe there was a dog somewhere? Maybe I could knock it in the floor. Surely my grandpa wouldn’t make me eat a BLT off a gas station floor…would he? Across the table from me, my grandpa sipped his coffee, eyeing my every movement. I had no choice but to eat on.
Finally, I swallowed the last morsel. And, to my amazement I didn’t barf.
I looked at my grandpa expecting some sort of congratulations.
He smirked and asked, “Got room for dessert?”