Burger King—what a shithole. The pretentious New York douchebag inside of me would never allow a visit to such a place. How can anyone even call themselves the King of all hamburgers? The hamburger is an enigma; no single man can claim that throne. But I’m hungover and tired, and it’s only a block away.
Fuck it; at least I’m not a McDonald’s philistine.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. 10 beautiful women. Am I at the right place? This can’t be Burger King. Oh wait, there’s a guy outside jerking off. Yeah, this is it.
The woman behind the register is dressed in some of the tightest jeans I have ever seen a Burger King employee wear. She greets me with a half smile and speaks at lightning pace. This is called fast food for a reason.
Her face lights up with one of the sexiest smiles I’ve seen here. She’s surprised I’m foreign and begins to laugh a little. 11 beautiful women. Whoever thought they’d say “I met my wife at Burger King” instead of “I had my first heart attack at Burger King”?
"WHOPPER DOUBLE MEDIO. PEPSI."
She laughs a little more and I’m unable to contain falling into her gaze. I begin dreaming of our night together in a tello. The touch of her oil-stained hands. The smell of French fries in her hair. Her legs perfectly thick from one too many free ice cream cones. I dream of her quietly whispering all the discounts she can get me as we make love.
Free delivery? Oh baby.
Free upgrades from medium to large? You’re dirty.
Skip the lines whenever you want? I love you.
Suddenly I wake up. She’s calculating the tab and looks back at me with that smile.
Sadly the King and his love of a Nazi-like work rate push her away from me and she moves on to the next customer. This is Argentina, not the United States. She should be able to take 10 minutes off and talk. Fuck the Burger King and his stupid crown.
Nethanel Kohen was on "Girls Gone Wild" once.