I was in Oklahoma last week checking out the Blanchard Relay for Life. While there, they had hotdogs and remembering this grand quest of mine, I asked someone connected to the event to try to sneak me one.
She couldn’t and so I didn’t get a hotdog there. But, there was a Sonic’s down the street so I went corporate.
The best part about this hot dog was not the hot dog itself. I bought it on my way out of town (and thus out of state). While driving down US 62 towards I-44, I pondered how would be the best way to eat this chili-cheese hot dog while driving. I turn onto the I-44 on-ramp and see a toll booth in front of me. It’s automated requiring exact change, something I was not sure if I had. I stopped, backed onto the grass. While Christy and I searched for change, the timing seemed too much like fate to ignore.
I couldn’t find the fork that the usually put with these hot dogs. Without fear, I went for that hot dog without a fork. Soon, there was no doubt that real men don’t need forks. Another state’s hot dog was no more.
Then, I found the fork in the bottom of the bag.
At this point, we found the 25 cents we needed after digging through bags and change bins. We pull back onto the service road, deposit our two dimes and a nickel and never looked back.
Well, until the next day when we made the drive again. That’s a different story…