Monday, May 28, 2007

GASP! COUGH! GAG! WoW!



Last night I went out with the cast of Gettin' Paid to Wells on Wells (WoW), an eating/drinking establishment directly across the street from Second City. I normally avoid going there when I am hungry, because I have yet to have a meal that goes well when I'm there. Yesterday was no different.

We elected to sit outside in their patio to people watch and enjoy the great summer weather. Along with a castmate, I order some real food trying something that I don't believe will give me heartburn nor will send me to the can 15 minutes immediately after I begin eating it . So, I ordered the Wells "Soon To Be Famous" Burger and and order of well-done fries. She orders a basket of fries and chicken fingers. So, we begin eating while discussing important matters like Conservatory ensemble politics, living in the city of Chicago, and whether or not half the women's breasts are real walking in and out of the bar.

After taking a bite of a french fry, she stops moving and a complete look of disgust on her face. She immediately takes a sip of her drink, and looks at me. She says, "Uhhg...that....french fry...tasted...like diarrhea." I was like, "Well, uhm that's weird. Maybe it was it mixed with your chicken strips or something." She was completely grossed out at this point. I then tried one of her french fries along with the ketchup it was in. It tasted fine. So, I told her to avoid the french fries and just go chicken strip crazy. The meal continued...

...until I bit into one of my own french fries. The taste of a barnyard-like smell covered my entire tongue and filled my nostrils with disgust! I immediately spat it out and rushed to take a swig of my drink. At this point, we had been rejoined by other castmastes who had ordered food and received it or had food on the way. In the middle of the ongoing conversation, I pointed at my french fry cohort and yelled, "OH MY GAWD! YOU ARE 100% RIGHT! I JUST GOT A FRENCH FRY THAT TASTED LIKE A BARNYARD!" Everyone stopped dead in their tracks at the table and I bust out laughing. I was gagging and exaggeratingly dry heaving at points. It takes a lot to gross me out when I'm eating (I've eaten a lot of gross things), but this actually psyched me out to the point I started questioning what else on my plate was contaminated by farm by-products. I had a complete burger sitting on my plate and it was unappetizing to look at, because I thought of the processing chain from the cow being born into a factory farm to the point it was cooked and served on my plate. At any given point crap could've been introduced into it. So, we all started second guessing our meals and contemplated trying to find another french fry to prove out point, however, none of us were brave enough to endure that taste. The waitress came over and asked how things were going. Boy, did we have fun telling her just what happened. She immediately takes out plates and rushes back inside.

We then begin to tell fawked up gross-out stories to see who can overcome this one. We were all ripping it up (once I found a roach swimming in the grease of a steak I was eating. I'm pretty sure that wasn't on the menu ) and having a great time. Eventually, she came back and apologized profusely and asked if we want something else. We picked some desserts figuring they were pre-made and would have the least amount of contact with humans (could the cooks have not washed their hands of relieving themselves? ) or barns. We then proceeded to hand for a couple more hours having a great time and drinking.

The girl ended up calling the manager that night (where the heck was he/she to let Mr. Ed poop on my food!) and comped us on our meals. Would've been nice to have the drinks comped, but, eh, it's cool.

So, to Mego and all the other WoW motherfawkers out there that choose it over Corcorans because they feel the service is better, FAWK WoW...for real, G! If I want to eat shit, I'll eat some of the stuff I've been shoveling .
Currently listening :
Serious Hits...Live!
By Phil Collins
Release date: 08 December, 1990

No comments: