queen of the castle ...

on thursday chuck and i drove down to the roseville mall so chuck could get a new laptop. he wanted to drive to the apple store instead of making the purchase from some blue-shirt named chad. we spent a relatively short amount of time between duluth and hinckley trying to decide how we were going to approach the white castle attached to the little store off the highway. chuck didn't seem interested. i was talking a good talk.

"no way," i said unconvincingly.
white castle is my favorite restaurant.

we had to stop at that gas station anyway so i could get something to drink and there was that white castle smell: onions, pig hide and crisco. deeee-lish. it smells exactly the same before it goes in, as it does when it dribbles out. particularly if it comes out in a high-traffic porta-potty in mid-august.

typically at a white castle i like to order two jalapino cheese burgers, cheese sticks and chicken rings for dessert.

on thursday i just grabbed myself a red g-2, avoided eye contact with the menu board, and made a beeline for the safety of the car. a virtual pope mobile in the face of the white castle's bullets of temptation.

we had just merged back onto the highway when i smelled something so awful that it could only be a crave case. "did you burp?" i asked chuck. "no," he said.

and that's when i realized that i'd gotten white castle smell in my hair.