As You Walk Up: A 2nd person narrative of Hot Doug’s

What: Hot Doug’s

Where: 3324 N California, Chicago, IL

If it’s so good, why haven’t you gone back? Because I don’t have a car and it’s a bitch to get to on the CTA.  Also money things.

Isn’t this a bit hyperbolic? Incredibly

Hot Doug’s

Walking up, the people come into sight long before the
sign.  Stretching around the corner and
halfway down the block, they shiver in the frigid February wind.  These people congregate, queuing up hours at a time,  because they must; because they know that what lies inside, what is hinted at by the occasional whiff of a scent escaping out the front door, is worth more than any momentary discomfort.

These people are winners. These towering examples of humanity.                                                                                                    These are the people who build empires. Who,
when presented with something exotic, do not fear change but welcome new tastes
and experiences with alacrity.  These are
the people who, after eating their linguine, you must fight the sudden urge to
marry.  These are your people and you join the throng, passing around a menu, cracking jokes about your vegetarian friends as you inch

closer and

closer

towards Canaan.

Finally you enter, passing through the doors with
anticipation burning a hole in your chest.
It smells like victory in here, the triumphs of all mankind latch on to
the hairs in your nose.  Taking in a deep breath, you feel compelled towards greatness.
You are filled with the urge to invent.

The urge to build; to climb a mountain and run a five-minute
mile.  Through the power of this magnificent, almost erotic scent, your ambition sees no end. Your potential for glory exceeds all means of measurement.

At last the moment comes.

As you approach the counter you are greeted by the inquiring glance of a less charismatic Jon
Favreau.  You spill out your order in rapid succession, so as not to forget a single thing, and are directed towards a table.

To wait.  And Wait.

Then, suddenly, it lies before you.  Duck and foie gras sausage with white truffle
mustard and a liver mousse.

The fear builds in your gut.

Certainly it could not live up to expectations.  Your body of experience steels your psyche against the disappointment inherent to life. You fleetingly ponder fleeing.                                                                                                                                        Perhaps the fantasy will far exceed the reality and you will be left disappointed, a shell of a man.

NO!  No! no no no!

You have come this far and no result will
scar you as much as the constant fear and wondering of the unknown.  You grab uncertainty by the scrotum and proceed as planned.

Upon the first bite your fears are instantly proven incorrect.  You mouth explodes with fire and gore; the
nerve receptors overloaded and spreading a massive electric charge all
throughout your body.

“I am Victorious!” you scream out loud,

“I am a wild beast!  Je suis une fauve!

I am Oppenheimer splitting the atom! I am Sam Phillips founding Sun Records! I am Thor, swinging my mighty hammer and crushing the skull of the giant King!  I AM A Golden God!

Kneel before my magnificence!”

And, shockingly, they do.  The world bends down and cocks an ear towards your voice.  At last, the world is silent, awaiting your command.

But it does not come.
Working your way toward the opposite end of the bun, the only sound
escaping your duck smeared lips is the quiet intake of breath as you revel in
the savory splendor. Global conquest can wait, this ecstasy cannot be
ignored.

Swallowing those last bites,
you lean back and become taken by the intense desire to kill yourself (and three innocent bystanders for good measure).
For nothing else in life could possibly reach the glorious heights of the proceeding minutes.

But, of course, you do not.
If nothing else, the human spirit is one of optimism.  No, you continue your life and as you walk
away, returning to society, you do so with a twinkle in your eye.  All of these people driving down the road and pounding the sidewalks; you laugh at them.
These fools.

You scoff because you know.  You know the secret.

You know what it means to kiss the sun and
touch the obelisk.  You know what it
means to live.

To be.

You know, and you will return.

http://www.hotdougs.com