Here’s the story. I got a new belt over Christmas Break – err, my nondenominational Winter Break – but, sadly, it was too big. I’m talking three holes too big. Something needed to be done because it was a really cool belt.
Many people would simply exchange the belt, but that entails mall parking lots and the hassle of dealing with the people in charge of returns/exchanges. And, as we all know, they are by far the most helpful people on the planet, with problem-solving capabilities of trained rocket scientists.
So with exchanging out of the question, I was left only two choices: throw the belt out or work my way into it. I thought long and hard and decided throwing the belt away would just be bad juju.
And with that, I decided to use one of my free Southwest tickets to fly to Philadelphia, my food mecca. That was where my journey to fill the three belt notches would begin.
After barely making my flight (check off “Driving to wrong airport” from Drew’s all-time stupid list), I spent the airtime planning when and where I’d eat for the next seven days. It was going to be a jam-packed trip, but no one said this journey would be easy.
The first morning I headed to Dunkin’ Donuts to grab a quick breakfast. Holy God, is that place good; how did we get stuck with Starbucks on every corner? Yeah, the six maple-frosted donuts I ate were good, but you could mainline their coffee into me and I would never frown again.
Flashing forward through some nondescript historical sightseeing, it was dinnertime. It was finally time for my first original Philly Cheesesteak. Fourteen inches of cheese wiz, steak and onion goodness later, it was time to check my belt status.
Notches left: two.
The next couple days weren’t as bountiful. The weather dipped into the low teens and there was no way I was going outside. Low fifties are my limit, thank you.
Finally, the weather let up a bit while there were still a few days left in the trip. This is when my discovery of the diner took place. Once again, how are amazing places such as these nowhere to be found in California? It’s mind-boggling.
These diners have everything: greasy french fries, Belgium waffles, club sandwiches; you name something and it is there. The best part is they’re open 24-hours. I was able to quench a craving for a corned beef sandwich at 3:30 in the morning. Words can’t capture the satisfaction that entails.
Following my diner gorging, notches left: one.
With only a couple of days left, it was almost time to panic. I had to fill out one more notch and was running out of meal times. However, fate was on my side because when we went out to dinner, the menu was the holy grail of food staring back at me: a beer-battered deep-fried burger. Throwing that down, along with a Guinness, more than put me over the top.
Notches left: zero.
I spent my last day recovering by trying to recreate scenes from “National Treasure” throughout the downtown area. But don’t worry, I walked as little as possible. I wasn’t going to ruin all that hard work I just put in.
-Drew Hendrickson is a psychology senior.
-This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Daily Aztec.
