Lunch Story, Part 2

Part one of this story happened eight months ago. Basically, my boss failed in his attempt to eat a ridiculously large sampler platter at a restaurant called "Claim Jumper", which specializes in portions that come in one size: ridiculously large. The food isn't great, but there's just so much of it.

My boss never officially admitted his defeat, because he was foiled by the excellent service, and the bet was postponed. But last week, he finally admitted that he was never going to do it.

So we were at the same restaurant again, in a back room (this matters later) and there were people asking when he was going to pay up. And then I brought up the idea of "double or nothing". There was a takeout menu that listed multiple-person servings, see, and that meant the sizes would be ridiculous times ten. Specifically, I asked the boss if he thought he could eat the "serves 8-10" size of buffalo wings. We figured there would be about 48 wings on the platter, and he was pretty sure he could eat it. Unfortunately, everyone else at the table thought he could, too, so there was no bet.

Then I asked if he thought he could eat the "serves 16-20" size, which had 96 wings. Ninety-six. That sounded unlikely enough that a couple of people at the table were willing to lay fifty dollars down. And the bet was on!

The waitress didn't believe us at first. The guy who makes the wings came out and asked us if we were sure. Normally this order gets put in a couple of boxes and goes to a party of some sort, and we were just plopping it down on the table for one guy to eat. Eventually, most of the servers and some of the cooks came out to watch the carnage. Even some of the other customers stopped by, particularly representatives of a large group of military personnel.

It took a long time, and it was a tough task. And, naturally, my boss had no chance at all. He started slowing down after about thirty wings, and then he stalled for time by having them reheated. Somewhere around here, it was clear that he was going to fail. And it was equally clear that failure would disappoint the various restaurant employees, who kept stopping by to see how he was doing. There was also the chance that if he admitted defeat, he'd be subjected to humiliation by the assembled might of the US military. Or at least, that segment of it in the next room.

So we did what anyone would do in that situation. Everyone with food asked for boxes to take away what was left. Then, when no one was looking (because we were in a back room), we shoved handfuls of wings into the boxes. We were a little afraid that somebody would notice that there weren't nearly enough bones to account for the allegedly-eaten wings, but since everyone who stopped by took away the bone-plate, we got away with it.

For the last two or three wings, we thought it would look better if they actually got eaten. But my boss could eat no more. Apparently, his entire system was filled with buffalo wings, and he was unable to swallow. He ended up disassembling the last two with knife and fork.

On our way out the restaurant, we were complimented by many people. I'm not sure why we all got complimented, although it's possible that people now approve of encouraging your coworkers to eat themselves into stupors. We made sure not to make eye contact with the gentlemen from the military, who seemed particularly impressed.