As the youngest and lowest-paid reporter at our newspaper, the assignment fell on my desk. My preparations for this assignment began the night before.
I ate a light dinner. I skipped breakfast. And after the buildup, I suppose I expected some kind of reaction - a prolonged stare, a light smirk - from the store manager, a friendly woman named Linda Leonard, who happened to be working the cash register at around noon on Thursday.
One Monster Thickburger, small fries and a small coke: $7.68.
My lunch order contained enough caloric sustenance to power a healthy, adult male through 80 percent of his day. Linda didn't appear to be the least bit interested.
"How many of these do you sell a day," I asked Linda
"About 20," she replied.
I took a number and sat down at a booth. Shortly afterwards, Linda arrived with the food. The Monster Thickburger leaned against a small pile of fries, one end rearing from a waxpaper wrapper I'm told is designed to catch grease as it drips out the back end.
I unsheathed it and began eating. It dripped. It oozed. The thick patties slid toward the back as I attacked from the front. I switched angles, digging in on different sides, and I endured. I didn't finish the fries.
Those who attempt the Monster Thickburger will find that consuming the first half is much more enjoyable then choking down the second half. And choking down the second half is much more enjoyable than dealing with the aftereffects.
But in a health-conscious age we should all tip our hats to the multimillion dollar fast-food operation whose menu boards feature no salads, no baked potatoes, and no yogurt.
When I asked the cook how long it took her to prepare one of the new burgers, she said it was easier than most.
"You don't have to add the lettuce, tomato and onions," she explained.
No vegetables whatsoever. The perfect fast food burger.
