The McRibshank Redemption

Like a kid opening a present on Christmas morning, I opened up the compact box that sat before me. It's one of those moments where you know you are about to embark on a special journey. I took the contents out and scanned it in hopes of determining how this item could bring such joy to so many. The mystery proved to be unsolvable and the lure of the prize overtook me. I closed my eyes and took a bite. I was in love with a sandwich.

****

It was a hot Sunday afternoon in the parking lot of Boston Chinese Evangelical Church. After a grueling hour of basketball, the customary lunch dilemma ached our brains. Where are we going to eat? It was that special day that an excited Calvin came up to us with the panacea to all our problems.

"The McRib is back."

****

I have never had a sandwich like a McRib. It's sweet and sour, but not Chinese. The onions and pickles complement the savory centerpiece: the fake pork rib. I don't normally like things are fake, but something about this sandwich just screamed the truth. Why they decided to turn processed ground pork back into the shape it originally came in, I have no idea; but its true purpose is never questioned: to satisfy the desire to eat something great, something amazing, something transcendent.

****

We couldn't fight it. Calvin and I discovered that the McRib was back only for a month. We had no choice but to find any way possible to eat as many McRibs before they disappeared. All our meals consisted of the McRib: breakfast, lunch, dinner, supper, mid-morning snack, mid-afternoon snack, post-dinner pre-midnight snack, midnight snack. We'd ordered dozens at a time fearing that a blizzard or swine flu would prevent us from obtaining our pork idol.

****

Normally our greatest fear at the end of the month are policemen trying to meet their speeding ticket quota, but this month was different. It was the end of a golden pork age. Calvin and I stood in line to make our final order that fateful day. After our usual order of twenty McRibs was ready, Calvin lamented, "This can't be it, this can't be it!" He bursted into tears and ran out the door. I ate four sandwiches before I went chasing after him.

****

"Just give me another McRib!! I'll give you anything! My wallet, my custom-made sneakers, my clothes, anything!"

The squeaky-voiced cashier had no choice but to call for security. They dragged a broke, shoeless, and naked Calvin out of the Stoneham McDonalds.

****

It's been six months since Calvin left. He just couldn't take it anymore, living in a world without the McRib. One Saturday morning, he just packed his things, hopped into his Ferrari, and left. The last thing he said to me was, "I'm packing my things and hopping into my Ferrari. See you later crocodile." He didn't have to tell me where he was going, I already knew.

****

During our month-long binge, we had heard rumors of a secret McDonalds facility that sold McRibs under the name Vegan Walnut Brownies. I don't think we believed the rumors at the time, but he was desperate and believed anything that could bring him closer to another McRib. I wish I could have stopped him from leaving, but I was too busy eating all the McRibs that I had hidden from him. Sometimes it makes me sad though, Calvin being gone. I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. I guess I just miss my friend the McRib (and Calvin too).

****

An electronic mail came in my mailbox this morning:

Dear Jared,

If you are reading this, it means that you've figured out what I changed your password to. If you've come this far, maybe you'd be willing to come a little further. I've discovered the factory where McRibs are harvested. I've usurped control of the factory from the previous owner (Willy Wonka) and could use a good man to help me maintain my power over the Oompa Loompas. I hope this electronic mail finds you well. After a while, alligator.

your friend,
Calvin

ps. Hope is a good thing.