Chili Dog Contest
You ever eat so much meat you got the meat sweats? You ever eat so much of something it scars you or otherwise alters your opinion of the food permanently?
You ever have a confusing nickname made up for you (Raincorn), wear a t-shirt emblazoned with a hastily-drawn unicorn and said nickname, all while being pitted against your coworkers, six liquor shots deep, forcing yourself to shove more and more food in your mouth with nothing to keep you going but the rabid screams of your boss, random patrons, and the rest of your coworkers in a scenario that’ll be the closest thing you’ll ever come to gladiatorial combat?
I have. Exactly once. As a “team building” exercise on “employee appreciation day.” “It couldn’t be any worse than the Four Loko days,” I told myself at the outset. I was very wrong. The pain, both psychological and physical, was more real and intense than I care to recall.
We had closed the bar where I was working. We mounted our scooters, grabbed an irresponsible amount of blanco tequila and budget friendly whiskey, and pounded drinks while standing on a street corner yelling at everything and nothing. Shooting dice, smoking cigarettes, doing our best to channel mismanaged emotions while punishing our bodies as hard and fast as possible. It’s sad, but taking pulls off of bummed cigs and tequila from a flask stored in your buddy’s bra can just feel right. I have to actively try not to fall back into that mode on a daily basis. Sometimes you have to be bad to feel good.
We eventually arrived at the old hot dog joint downtown. Our boss handed over the company card and we opened a tab for what was essentially a drowning night of meat. The old man running the hot doggery was a good sport and kept the dogs coming five at a time like lambs to the slaughter.
I had an uncomfortable amount of chili on my face after the first bite, but my buddy Lee, possessed, was already on his second hot dog. The gauntlet was thrown, and I had to answer his call.
The shredded cheese, our version of confetti, celebrated this act of hedonism as it fell to the table. The discovery of fire. The building of the pyramids. Landing on the moon. They too had their moments of revelry.
Lee was up one on me the whole time. Onlookers went from being excited to grossed out. All I could hear was my own belabored breathing. Suddenly, the room felt hot. I picked up a dog and so did he, matching each other bite for bite. I was sweating under my eyes. That’s the sweat of fear and regret. Everyone stared at us. We had nothing left to prove. I tapped out. He smashed another one down and bellowed the way I imagine ancient people did when they felled a mammoth.
