Tuesday, November 22, 2005

I Am R-Daddy's Bitch

For anyone who has ever seen the show Intervention, you know that addiction is an all encompassing force that destroys everything that it encounters. People spend years and even lifetimes trying to unshackle themselves from various destructive dependencies. Recovery is a difficult, if not excruciating, path on which an addict will find many seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Addiction experts agree that the first step in the recovery process is that the addict recognize and admit that they have a problem that is beyond their control.

As they say in the counseling field, "Denial is a river in Egypt." Thus, I have decided to accept the fact that I have a chemical dependency problem. Every morning, while most people are sleeping or sending their kids to school, I head off to a seedy South Baltimore neighborhood to get my fix. There, amongst street prostitutes and the homeless, I seek out my dealer, R-Daddy. He always greets me with a wave and a smirk that seems to say, "I knew you'd be back, sucka." He has his lower-level dealers employ devious marketing tactics that are designed to increase dependency:

Lower Level Dealer: "Welcome to McDonald's. Would you like to try a McGriddle today?"
Me: Taking the bait. "What's a McGriddle?"
LLD: "It's two griddle cakes with the taste of maple syrup baked right in. You can get bacon, egg, and cheese or sausage, egg and cheese."
Me: "Sounds disgusting."
LLD: "So do you want one?"
Me: "No. You'd better make it two."
LLD: "That's what I thought."

Like all addicts, I started small and told myself that I could quit anytime I wanted too. R-Daddy knew better. He knew that it was only a matter of time before the small coffees that I was dabbling in would escalate into Big Breakfasts. He'd seen it all before. He was well aware that his poison would take everything and he had prepared accordingly:

LLD: "Your order will be $3.86, sir."
Me: Looking in wallet. "Crap, I don't have any cash on me."
LLD: Pushing the card swipe machine towards me. "That's OK, sir. We take Visa, MC, and Discover."
Me: "I feel weird using credit at McDonald's. "
LLD: "They all do at first. You'll get used to it. We know you're good for it."

I know that my only chance is to surrender to my powerlessness over this addiction. Quitting cold-turkey is a difficult proposition for even the most disciplined. I think I am going to have to wean myself off of it slowly. I know that I can't do it alone. I may even resort to scoring off of this guy's crew:


At 10:43 AM, Blogger Cham said...

When I was a young lass I made the mistake of letting R-daddy talk me into trying a Big Mac, my life has been hell ever since. He got me hooked once and I know not to go down McGriddle road. Its tough but I stay away.

Do the schools cover this subject during smoking, alcohol and drug week?

At 3:24 PM, Anonymous fool said...

Repeat after me:

"McDonald's free is the life for me."
"McDonald's free is the life for me."
"McDonald's free is the life for me."

At 4:49 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Love your writing. I'll be coming back for more.

If you like poop-laden writing, check out dooce.com.

Best regards,
Women, Fire & Dangerous Things

At 9:46 AM, Anonymous eBill said...

Don't let me catch you running with that Quaker posse. You're a McDonald damn it, not a whore!

At 8:03 AM, Blogger chunky monkey said...

It's a struggle every day for me to not stop and get the McGriddle...

My biggest enemy was "the truck" that would come around to different points "on campus" at HQ in San Diego. I could order my own breakfast croissant: cheese, egg, sausage or bacon (depending on my mood) with a HASH BROWN all on a croissant. Freshly cooked and best EVER. (I would add a bit of hot sauce to make it perfect.) The only way to get that beast off my back was to move to the east coast.


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