What Was I Thinking?

Those who know me know my penchant for culinary excess. I’ve gone to great lengths in my eternal quest for good eats. I spent the better part of a summer sniffing out Charlotte area haunts featured in The Food Channel’s “Diners, Drive-ins and Dives.” I once consumed 15 hot dogs in 13 minutes for bragging rights. I even entered a food-eating contest a few years back sanctioned by the International Federation of Competitive Eating (IFOCE), downing vienna sausages with the likes of Sonya “The Black Widow” Thomas and Eric “Badlands” Booker. Thomas and Booker are fixtures at the Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest, held every July 4 at Coney Island. 

Thomas, in 2005, choked down 37 hot dogs in 12 minutes. Booker once ate 49 glazed doughnuts in eight minutes in another contest. I could only muster 3 pounds of viennas before “tapping out” of the contest. I swore off the little wienies for the next three weeks.

My latest venture involved camping overnight for 18 hours in a cold rain with total strangers for a shot at a year’s supply of free chicken wings. A popular restaurant in Hickory was relocating, and staged the event prior to its grand opening on Aug. 20. The first 100 in line would spend the next 12 months consuming the little fried flappers, considered by health experts as being among the highest in cholesterol and saturated fat that you can find.

How could I resist? Besides, I happen to love chicken wings. My traditional Super Bowl fare is two dozen Buffalo-style wings with bleu cheese dressing, carrot and celery sticks washed down with a two-liter Diet Pepsi. The thought of free wings for a year lured me in like a pig to truffles. With encouragement from my wife (who no doubt was looking forward to two days of uninterrupted QVC speed-dialing bliss), I grabbed a sleeping bag, folding chair, cooler and snacks, and set out to reach enlightenment.

Turns out I wasn’t the only one with nothing better to do than brave the elements for free food. I arrived Saturday afternoon to a handful of folks already jostling for prime parking lot real estate. A group of teens had pitched a tent and were tossing a frisbee to stave off the boredom. A man who spoke little English (when he spoke at all) was huddled against the wall with just a CD player for entertainment. I offered him a spare chair I brought with me, and he quickly obliged.

Before nightfall a line had formed along one wall. I tried to blend in as best I could. I listened to cops swapping war stories from their days spent as soldiers in Iraq. A man next to me brought a TV. We bonded over an NFL football game. The woman to my left passed the time playing Yahtzee on her Kindle Nook.

Sleep was out of the question. Stickers were handed out every half hour to determine who would be first in line. More stickers meant a better spot in line, and more sleep deprivation.

The rain was incessant. At 52, I realized youth was not on my side. My motivation was dwindling fast. Cars slowed down to gawk and jeer. I hoped no one would recognize me. We were then told we would could only get six wings per week. I began to question my judgment. What was I thinking?

But then dawn began to break. With the fading darkness came an increased optimism among the huddled masses. After the longest night I’ve ever spent, I was on the home stretch. In just a few hours, the front doors would swing open, and we would collect our coupons and go home. First, there would be the obligatory ribbon-cutting ceremony, a few words from the mayor and photos for the media. Finally, at 10 a.m., I had my coupons in hand. I dragged myself home for a long, warm shower before heading to work.

I made a few friends, learned a lot about myself and found out that camping out in the cold rain in a lawn chair with a wet sleeping bag and no sleep is a miserable existence. Was it worth six chicken wings a week for one year? For 100 hardy souls that weekend, perhaps. For the rest of humanity, probably not.