Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut

In the days of backyard water-fights and one o'clock breakfasts, before summer meant work, I used to attend camp. At camp we were always singing. There were a variety of meaningless camp songs that we would chant as we trekked from place to place. I remember one song that didn't even have any verbs in it. It just listed a multitude of fast food restaurants. It went something like this:

A Pizza Hut a Pizza Hut
Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut
A Wendy's a Wendy's
Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut

A Pizza Hut a Pizza Hut
Long John Silvers and a Pizza Hut
McDonald's, McDonald's
Long John Silvers and a Pizza Hut

This song was never a particular favorite of mine, and I had largely forgotten about it until recently when I took a trip down south to Kentucky. I traveled with a group, squished inside a fifteen passenger seat van. On both the car ride down and back, we stopped at fast food restaurants for meals. You would think that in the spirit of experiencing Kentucky, we would stop for Kentucky Fried Chicken at least once, but instead we devoted ourselves to the McDonald's menu. What an intestinal roller coaster that was. I remember I could practically feel the Egg McMuffin I had eatten for breakfast finding its way to my love handles, and the McDouble I had eatten for lunch creating a pool of oil in my stomach that seeped into my bloodstream and clogged my arteries. I could feel my life shortening as I chewed. It was a dramatic experience to say the least.

Finally, we found a Wendy's to eat at. Wendy's has new salads on their menu, in case you avoid fast food like I do and were not informed, and since my stomach had been screaming for real food since we entered Virginia, I decided to get the Baja salad. Despite the fact that it was made in a fast food restaurant, it was an enjoyable meal; that in and of itself was a surprise, but what really made my eyes pop was the size of the salad. It looked like it was big enough for four people instead of one, but I ate it ALL! I didn't even want to share it when my sister asked me for a bite. What an American.

It seems our culture is obsessed with quantity. When you got out to eat you want to make sure that you're getting your money's worth, and in America that means seeing the money you spend on your plate. I wonder, why not have a quarter of the serving with four times the quality? This mentality isn't limited to restaurants. I've seen the 'Quantity Fever' in other ways. Yesterday was the forth of July. The Forth of July brings fireworks, and I participated in the annual celebration of my country's independence by watching the familiar display of fiery color. The show went on for almost an hour. I couldn't believe it. It must have cost an arm and a leg to have a constant stream of fire for an hour like that. I would have enjoyed it just as much if the show had lasted ten minutes. They could have extended the finale and cut out the first fifty minutes, but that's not the way it's done here. I'm just happy I don't live in Texas. What would fireworks and Wendy's salads be like there?