WTF Moments – Robo Vampire

Sometimes there are no words.


Where Did I Go Wrong? – 14: Healthy Eating

I’m a bad eater. As a child I was a legendarily picky eater, and as an adult I’m only mildly better. I went through phases in my younger years where I would ONLY eat Cheer-ios, or ONLY eat hot-dogs, but the hot-dogs had to be in a piece of white bread, not a bun. I’ve never been good at eating vegetables and fruits. I’m not a big fan of my food mixing on my plate. I don’t like pizza for this reason.

As I got older I tried to expand my palate. I didn’t do this out of a desire to be healthy, but so that getting food for me wasn’t such a chore. If someone at work is doing a food run for eight people, you don’t want to be the guy who says “grab me a cheese burger, but with no ketchup, no mayo, double down on the mustard, light on the lettuce, and pickles on the side”. First of all, you’re going to make an enemy of the person getting your food, and secondly they’re going to mess it up.

Even now, when I arrive at a restaurant for the first time I will scrutinize the menu, desperate to find something that I won’t have to change into a special order. It’s not a matter of being ashamed, or scared of drawing attention to myself. It’s much more that I don’t want people to make a fuss over me, and the more complicated you make an order, the more likely someone is going to mess it up.

I’ve gotten to the point where I can eat at almost any kind of restaurant. Most people don’t even realize what an incredibly picky eater I am. On rare occasion I’ll even try new things. A co-worker from Kenya once brought some grilled goat into the workplace and offered it to everyone. True, it took me days to get the noxious and caustic taste of goat out of my mouth, but I tried it.

Now, all of that said, I grill an amazing steak; you should come over and try it sometime. It only took me 28 years of life to finally convince myself to start eating baked potatoes as well. The final determining factor in the Great Baked Potato decision was that anything containing bacon, cheese, and butter HAD to be good. This is one of my core philosophies of life, as you’ll soon see.

But it’s because of this culinary limitation that I so love places that thrive on customization of your order. One of my favourite places to eat is a place near my house called Ritzy’s. Now, this isn’t meant to be an advertisement for the place, but they are incredible. They primarily do burgers, chicken sandwiches, hot dogs, all those things we Americans consider fine cuisine. What they are most famous for though, is their custom salad bar.

They’ve got every topping imaginable, and a couple I’m scared to ask the identity of. They have four different types of lettuce, and dozens of dressings. You can add in strips of chicken, prepared three different ways. Also, the salad bowls are literally the size of your head. I can only ever eat a Ritzy’s salad if I’m starving before I get there. After eating a Ritzy’s salad, I have no need to eat for the rest of the day. This is no exaggeration. I had one today at 1pm, and as I write this it is 2am, and I haven’t eaten anything since, nor am I hungry.

Now these amazing salads don’t come cheap. With a drink, and adding some grilled chicken, they usually come to about $10. However, the owner knows me by now. He seems to think that my name is “Hey film guy, when you gonna put me in your next movie?” (which is a really long and cumbersome name), but he gives me half off everything I order, so he can call me anything he wants. I love this place.

Considering what I’ve told you about my intensely picky habits, you’re probably wondering what sort of things I get on my fabulous salad. By the way, I’d like to point out that fabulous was your word, not mine, but whatever, I don’t judge.

I warn you now: my salad is not for the faint of heart, nor for the slim of waistline. My salad is exactly the same every time I go there, half the time I don’t even have to tell them the ingredients anymore, they just make it for me. I start out with iceberg lettuce, since it is the least nutritional of all the lettuces (it’s important to make sure they don’t accidently sneak any kind of healthiness or nutrition into my salad). I then have them add a few onions, just in case any woman was thinking about possibly making out with me (this is a much bigger punch line than you know; trust me, women everywhere are falling out of their chairs laughing at the mere thought of making out with me). Then comes the exciting part, I demand copious quantities of bacon bits and cheddar cheese. Oh yes. I have made them go in the back to find more bacon and cheese to satisfy my cravings. Then I have them add a mountain of croutons, some grilled chicken (the grilled being the healthiest of the chicken, to delude me into thinking that the pile of bacon and cheese won’t clog up my heart), and drown the whole concoction in a double serving of honey mustard dressing.

That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I, Jeff Hillary, have created the world’s unhealthiest salad. I’m tempted to ask them to deep fry it and serve it at the state fair. For those of you who’ve never been to the Texas State Fair, the food from this past year included chicken fried bacon, deep fried beer, and deep fried lard.

Now, I’m ashamed to admit this, but I don’t always manage to finish my meat salad, complete with fresh-made roll. In fact more often than not, I end up leaving half of it behind (these things are HUGE). But on those rare days that I complete the Herculean task of eating a salad I begin to eye the fresh homemade ice cream counter. On those days I know I will be partaking of some chocolate with chocolate chips…yes, I consider every day a war on my body.