Heavy Dipper

I like my sauces. Food is always better with a lot of a good sauce. I consider myself to be a sauce connoisseur in a way. Hot sauce, ranch, ketchup, chutney, you name it! Whatever it is I need it, and sometimes I like a little more then what I need. Sometimes, this presents a problem for me though.

Arby’s is pretty awesome. The food sucks but all those great sauces at your disposal makes it worth while. There is no quantity control! It’s the perfect place for a heavy dipper like me. With the exception of the occasional Arby’s customer that sees me stock piling an arsenal or the employee that watches in awe as I collect for my invisible family of ten, I don’t have to be ashamed of my saucy eccentricities. “Freedom of sauce” as I like to call it. It’s practically the First Amendment of the Eater’s Constitution. Sadly not all places embrace this.

Chick-fil-A is socialist in a way. They make it appear that you have “freedom of sauce” with their little ketchup or hot sauce packets sitting out, but we all know that they control the good stuff. The containers of Chick-fil-A, Polynesian, Honey Mustard, and Bar-B-Q sauce is all kept behind the counter. Plus, what heavy dipper has the time or patience to rip open hundreds of ketchup packets? That’s just embarrassing. Those small containers are the way to go.

My wife and I went to Chick-fil-A a few evenings ago. My wife loves eating there. She always says to me, “Eating a Chick-fil-A sandwich is like living the best moment of my life over and over again.” She should at least make some money saying stuff like that, like on a Chick-fil-A commercial. Anyway, we walk into the joint and I see the same employee that serves me every time. I call him “Mr. Smiley.” I could write a whole book on this guy. He scares me! If you have every seen Galaxy Quest, he is a lot like that smiley Thermian extraterrestrial. I know Chick-fil-A goes out of their way to be retarded nice, but this guy is just ridiculous. And he spends so much time remembering to smile that he always forgets who I am and that I'm a saucaholic.

“Crap! This guy is weird” I whispered to my wife as we stood in line to order. She nudges me with her arm to be quiet.

“How can I happily and graciously serve you this day” said Mr. Smiley with a grin.

My wife went first.

“I would like a #1 with a Dr. Pepper and one Polynesian sauce please.”

“Alright! And for you sir?”

“I would like a #6 with a Dr. Pepper . . . and TWO Honey Mustard and THREE Bar-B-Qs.”

I immediately heard a snicker from one of the employees filling a drink nearby. Mr. Smiley’s face became slightly less smiley and a little more confused.

“Uh, Spencer!” my wife said in a surprised and “you’re a freak!” kind of way to avoid being instigated in the saucy situation. Despite the fact that we go there all the time and she knows I always want five containers of sauce, she completely throws me under the bus.

“You want TWO Honey Mustards AND THREE Bar-B-Qs?” Mr. Smiley enunciates, as if I was a child. At this point I feel like The Elephant Man. I ask myself “Is this too many? Am I too much of a heavy dipper?” I was too far into it to turn back.

“Uh…yes. That’s right.”

Everyone around me has a look of disgust on their face. The guy behind us whispers something to his girlfriend. I know what they are talking about. I could even swear I heard a mother nearby say to her daughter, “Sarah! We need to leave now. We’re not going to eat with FREAKS!” Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration but it could have happened.

We finally paid at that point I was able to enjoy my sauces, but it was not without embarrassment. Those darn sauce hecklers! So this is to all those heavy dippers out there who choose to be different and fight against societal conformity. We’ve got to stick together on this one because that’s the only way we can make a difference.

This article was brought to you by the National Anti Hate Crimes Against Heavy Dippers Association