Guest Post by Josh Hanagarne
I was in a Maverik not too long ago. If you’re not American, or if you live in a state without Maverik, it’s just a convenience store. Oh, they want you to think otherwise. The cashiers are called Adventure Guides and putting gasoline in your automobile is supposed to feel like bagging a charging rhino on safari, but it’s a lot like a 7-11, Chevron, Texaco, etc.
You can buy a ho-ho. You can buy a soda. You can use the restroom. And finally, you can buy a hotdog.
I am a fitness and strength-minded individual. I can deadlift 500 lbs. I can bend nails and bolts with my bare hands. I have low bodyfat. All of these things = I am a giant oaf, but a passionate one who has a hell of a lot of fun with his odd hobbies. Some would call my hobbies obsessions. But even an obsession can be destroyed by an occasional craving.
Sometimes I just need a hotdog.
The Siren Song of the Wiener
At times, I will be sitting there on my couch, typing at my desk at work, or lying in bed thinking thoughts of abysmal banality, when the need for a hotdog will explode through my head like an errant javelin. And once it’s lodged in there between my ears, there’s only one way to pull it out: with a hotdog.
And not just any hotdog. I’m no gourmand. I can only spell the word connoisseur because Microsoft Word for Mac does it for me. Sometimes I need the hotdog that’s been on the rollers under the lamps at Maverik for too long. The gray one. The bumpy one. The one that feels like chewing a juicy latex glove.
Still with me? Since you read Jenny’s blog, I’m guessing you’re still here and that you’re also not quite right in the head.
Sometimes, cravings are catastrophic. A man reduced to an appetite can be a sad, sad thing.
Rewind
When I entered that Maverik, I scurried to the rollers with trembling hands and licked my lips as I gazed down at the hideous bounty. I opened the lid and set down the empty cup I was going to fill with Diet Mountain Dew. But the cup skittered off the edge of the counter and landed on my toes. I leaned down to get it. SSSSSSS.
There are moments when I can barely stand to think about all the wonderful things about me. I get so proud of myself sometimes that I need a kick in the face just to remind me that other people exist.
This was not one of those moments. When I leaned down to get my cup, my forehead pressed into the hotdog rollers. The sound of my sizzling forehead snapped me back into reality. I am a big fan of scars, and I have some great ones, but all I could think of in that moment was: Please do not let there be a scar on my forehead in the shape of a hotdog roller from Maverik.
Luckily, there wasn’t. My adventure guide sold me that wiener without even looking up. And it didn’t even really hurt, it just startled me.
But now, when I tread the hallowed halls of Maverik, craving a weenie beyond reason and rationality, I feel a new surge of adrenaline that has nothing to do with the hotdog I’m stalking, but has everything to do with the most unforgettable sound I’ve ever heard…
The sound of one head sizzling.
Josh Hanagarne
Get Stronger, Get Smarter, Live Better…Every Day
About the Author: Josh Hanagarne is the twitchy giant behind World’s Strongest Librarian, a blog about living with Tourette’s Syndrome, kettlebells, book recommendations, buying pants when you’re 6’8”, old-time strongman training, and much more. Please subscribe to Josh’s RSS Updates to stay in touch.
{ 9 comments… read them below or add one }
Mmmmmm Hot dog jerky from Maverik. I too love Maverik, I always feel like I am off to hunt tigers in India or run the slickrock in Moab when I get gas. And the hot dogs can be divine. I can totally sympathize with your forehead, I have almost done the same thing. At Maverik.
Justin
I've never seen this Maverik, and I feel that I'm missing out on something wondrous. Also, favorite part? “Hideous bounty.” Nice.
I'm so jealous of this experience. Seriously.
Haha, righhttt? Almost worth a trip to see this.
Justin, you should try it at least once. It didn't hurt, and it smelled delicious.
Jenny, you have my permission to tell the story and pretend it was you.
Ha! I liked that too, and yes, wondrous is the right word. And ensorcelling.
Jenny, come on out. You can stay with us.
Ironic to the title of the post, I had a rare moment of zen while reading it. Somehow, while skimming the title as I sometimes do, I completely missed that Mr. Hanagarne was the writer. So, with the image in mind from some of the other posts and the dancing videos, I come across the the line “I am a fitness and strength-minded individual. I can deadlift 500 lbs. I can bend nails and bolts with my bare hands…”
I think my brain stopped for just a moment. Then it re-engaged with the 'wait..what?' and I scrolled up and saw the missed, bold faced no less, authorship, and reality reasserted itself. However, from now on, if a little bald monk asks me “what is the meaning of Mu?” I can reply “Jenny McCoy deadlifts 500 lbs”