I saw Jesus at Wendy's

I was feeling a bit puckish earlier today so I stopped into Wendy’s to grab a bite to eat and saw a sign that read you had to request tomato on your hamburger if you wanted tomato or they wouldn’t be adding it, (even though they will still be charging you the same price). Translated that means, Wendy’s is so cheap that even the worst low-end tomato they can get from some underpaid backyard farmer is still too expensive for them to add. Since they have to pay more for these basic ingredients instead of increasing the price they simply aren’t adding it into your order anymore unless you request it, (thereby saving more money on overhead and maximizing profits). What next Wendy’s, you going to have your undocumented south of the US border employees start scouring the dumpsters of the local supermarkets in the dead of night trash picking expired veggies for your next quarterly earnings update to the stockholders?

Now I normally don’t eat tomatoes on my burgers but since this was something they weren’t doing I figured why not make them since I can throw it away. I’m paying for it so I purposely ordered mine with tomatoes and ketchup, minus the lettuce, pickles, mustard, onions and all the rest of the rabbit food they want to put on your less than picture perfect burger. But I’m not here today to talk about burger extras and frankly (to go down a different path for a bit) I could never come up with a good enough reason for adding a salad to my burger or half the other things companies dream up to screw up a good burger. Nor I’m I going to go into why I don’t like the cheapest yellow mustards they can import from prison labor camps in China (even though I like other mustards). I’m not even going to get into why I absolutely hate pickles so much I can’t even handle them if they’re just on the plate as a side garnish. No, today I’m here to say something far more important than hamburgers without tomatoes on them, today I’m here to speak about Jesus.

You see because these corporations are so hung up on profits they will only hire the lowest scale of undocumented drug inducted alcoholic degenerate wage earners they can find (not because they would pay them less if they could, but because it’s against federal law to pay any less (unless you’re Wal-Mart). You can expect without a shadow of doubt something is going to be wrong with your order because of these corporate practices and that’s even when you can find someone that speaks spanglish. I got my burger I thought it wise to give it a quick scan bEfore I bit into it since they can never seem to do it the way I order it.

I began inspecting my meal by unwrapping it and opening up the burger I saw the meat, a tomato, ketchup, good so far, and then frickin’ pickles! This isn’t what I ordered, I hate pickles, I hate them touching my food, I hate the way they taste, the way they look, everything about them just skives me out and makes me want to hurl and while checking this burger I saw once again they didn’t disappoint me because it had the dreaded pickles on it. I was about to freak out and go up to choke the manager until he turned blue in the face when I noticed something strange. The pickle on my burger looked just like the face of Jesus, and because of the way they put the ketchup on it there was a place right under the eye that looked exactly like he was crying blood. Holy fucking cardinals playing bocce ball John Paul I thought to myself, yep you heard me right, on my 99 cent Wendy’s burger was the weeping face of Jesus!

Now I normally (as mentioned), Jesus or not, would have zoom, zoom, zoomed right back up to the counter and slapped that bad boy meat side down on it (since I made them repeat back the order to me twice in spanglish) but I couldn’t, the force of that crying Jesus pickle held me spell bound. I looked around and saw there were not only Hispanic workers behind the counter but Hispanics patrons as well in this establishment and not wanting to cause a scene or a sudden influx of bible thumping charlatans, Christians and other inbred rattlesnake shaking dancers with missing teeth all wanting to test the sweet tea machine by dumping poison in the containers or hurt my area with a shitload of pilgriming believers coming to see the weeping pickle Jesus I suddenly thought, ‘I should sell this on ebay’, that was until the pickle spoke to me.

Jesus said to me with through vinegary lips or maybe it was more like a Vulcan mind meld, “Rae, write these words down and tell the world that the time is coming of my return, then dispose of this pickle” So I let Jesus know I was way ahead of him on the disposal part and asked him, “but why should I, a somewhat normal and fairly sane person seek to risk embarrassment and humiliation by telling the world you spoke to me while in a pickle form, sitting on a burger slapped between two buns”, to which he replied, “ My child it is not for you to understand what I do your mission is to simply spread my word”. I asked Jesus if he could recall what happened the last time he tried to spread his word and if his feet and wrists still hurt, to which he said “good point, that’s why I’m calling on you this time”.

So what to do in a dilemma such as this? Do I risk being thrown into the local nutty bin for hearing the voice of the weeping pickle Jesus or just say fuck it and go out into the world with my pickle as proof Jesus still lives and breathes through us. I couldn’t think, I took a drink of my coke because I was sweating since this was something that I’ve never experienced before. I set the pickle that I now reverently refer to as the weeping Jesus pickle down on a napkin off to the side and decided to eat the hamburger while I was thinking about what to do except when I bit into it the frickin thing it was stone cold! Flippin’ Christ with all his rambling on had kept me so busy with this theological debate on what to do he had allowed my meal to get cold. So I asked him, “Hey Jesus you think you could warm this burger up for me” and he had the nerve to say, “don’t be trite”. Can you believe that, don’t be trite! Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick I didn’t asked to be visited by the son of God while I was ready to eat my low wage scale non unionized un-picture perfect tinnie tiny hamburger that was suppose to hold me over till dinner. Nooooooooooo, he just up and appeared to me in pickle form uninvited and unannounced and then expected me to throw my life away and help him, the nerve, I’ve had junkies I’ve known treated me better.

In the end I agreed to write this story down (just to be safe) and then decided to take Jesus and the rest of my cold burger up to the counter and get another one. When I set it down to complain to the Mexican guy with the missing teeth he looked down and gasped and began yammering on in Spanish faster than a crackhead looking to “borrow” twenty bucks. All the Hispanics in Wendy’s rushed over and then dropped to their knees and started praying saying I was a saint and that the pickle was a sign. They started referring to me as the one who carried the savior before him or at least that’s what I think they were saying given my limited Spanish vocabulary and comprehension of the language while cell phones were being pulled out left and right. You think your life can be weird sometimes, try being the saint of a Jesus pickle and one who hates pickles on top of it. I quickly had 23 Hispanic workers in a crowded restaurant touching me, wanting me to lay hands on them, bless them, and hopefully from what I deciphered grant them miracles.

As these people lay before me on their knees with their heads down and arms outstretched to touch me I did the only thing any self-respecting American would do being granted sainthood by his followers. I had them all stand up and asked them if they had sinned to which they all replied, “yes we have, please heal us”, and then with a stroke of genius hitting me I asked them if they recalled in the bible where God stated that you would pay for the sins you’ve committed while on earth. They all agreed they had heard this before and so I began passing out penitence’s. I left after it was over with an extra $247.63 in my pocket. (hey, damn skippy) I made them pay for their sins and throw in a burger without any pickles on it this time too. As for the weeping Jesus pickle, you can find him in the trash bin located outside the door if you need something to believe in, just don’t tell Jesus.