By Ember
It was the afternoon of December sixteenth, in the year of the virus. My friends and I had just finished our optional swabs to ensure we were clean of the virus as we all wanted to play this virus thing safe. On our way back from our swabs, we decided we were feeling a wee bit peckish, and decided to stop at our local massive chain eatery for some sustenance.
My friends went with Mc Nuggets, Mc Fries, and Mc Doubles, I, however, learning of the recent recreation of a classic Mc sandwich that I had never heard of before, decided to be a bit experimental and try one. I tapped on the fingerprint-coated screen and picked the sandwich, the famous Mc Rib, as I had to see just how this legendary meat and bread combo stacked up to the claims.
I waited patiently for my sandwiches and nuggets while my friend made a stop in the restroom, and my other friend paced around watching their YouTube videos. The cashier lady walked up with my order and placed it before me, ticket 157, ordered at 1:09 Eastern Standard, gave me a standard smile and offered me a handled bag to carry the order in, as it was a rather large order. I picked the bags up and set them within the larger bag, then prepared to head out. A few minutes later, my other friend finished their business and joined the party, and we all headed out back to their apartment.
Upon arriving back at the apartment, I opened the bag, and retrieved my sandwich, and my fries, then returned to the table I had my PC set up at to eat. I had a few hours before work, and I was ready for trying this magical sandwich that I heard so much about. Upon opening the little cardboard box it came in, I realized that it had been tossed together haphazardly, not quite unusual for something ordered from Mc Donald's, but mildly disappointing all the same, to see such a legend treated like some inferior product at another fast food chain.
I picked the sandwich up and took a deep sniff, trying to do that thing that the rich people do with fancy wines to prepare themselves for their revelations of "it's quite aromatic" and the like, and received the pleasing smell of obscene volumes of barbeque sauce, and the one or two pickles that found its way onto the "meat" patty. I figured that this sandwich might not be that much of a visual stunner, or much of a scent sensation, but it'd knock the ball out of the park with its taste.
I opened my mouth and took a small bite, just large enough to get a decent sampling of the flavors, some onion, some pickle, well, the little pickle that was there, the sauce, the bread, and the "meat". I chewed it, and through the sauce, it tasted quite nice, surely not the legendary hero of lunchtime that the internet seems to believe it is, but not something I'd talk down upon either. It was that sort of three-star cuisine you come to expect from the clown-faced mega corporation.
I ate a bit more, another bite, tasting just the same, the "meat" that was included having a slightly strange texture, almost like it was made out of 70 different ingredients, not one of them being rib meat, but it was still edible, as far as I could tell. I ate another and another bite until the sandwich was done, all in all, about a two and a half minute job, but it was done.
I stood up and figured I'd be diligent and ask my boss what the policies on people who have potentially come into contact with the virus was, and during that call, my stomach began to feel slightly off. I figured that it was just that stomach upset that I sometimes get when I try strange things, so I decided to just ignore it.
I sat back down, and ate some fries, I figured that a bit of potato might help, despite the unimaginable levels of grease within them. Not even twenty fries in, my stomach began to feel like it had a balloon made of lead in it. I tried to stand up, but my legs had gone numb, and my arms began to feel a bit heavier. I forced myself to stand, and after a bit of stumbling about, I declared to my friends "I don't feel so great."
The two of them looked at me and seemed to write it off as me being weird. I thought that it'd just pass nice and fast, perhaps I just wasn't ready for the power of the Mc Rib and it'd settle after a minute or two. I sat back down and took a breath. I began to feel my limbs all getting chilly, I figured this was just because it was a snowy December day, it was cold, after all, but my friend had just cranked the heat for me, since I had been complaining about being cold.
I had decided I'd just wait it out, it'd pass before work, after all, right? It sure didn't. After about twenty more minutes, my digestive system had decided that it'd try to get that lead balloon out the fastest way it could. I covered my mouth and ran to the bathroom, slid on my knees in front of the toilet and let out the sounds of a possessed child on every horror movie while my body tried its hardest to make the Mc Rib Mc Leave it. Much to my dismay, my tendency to brush too far down my throat when cleaning my tongue made it much harder for my body to evacuate the sandwich through my mouth, at least for now.
I held the bowl for a while and felt the tears of defeat roll off of my nose as I stared down into the water, seeing the image of a defeated, broken trans girl ripple as their tears broke the smooth surface. I looked up and immediately felt my stomach turn, letting out the worst noise I've made in my entire life, allowing a decent bit of the sandwich back out, but nowhere near enough to cleanse my digestive system.
I went to my friend's bed and curled up after washing up, wanting to pass out until work, hoping this would pass by the time I had my shift. I told my friend that if I threw up again, I'd need them to call out for me, they agreed, and I waited there for a while, trying to hold it all down, but eventually the sandwich decided to take my throat for another reverse ride and I went back and partially emptied myself, crying more tears of defeat and pain, as the sauce had decided to become nice and acidic in my stomach, burning my throat on its unwelcome climb back to my holiest of holes.
I spent about another fifteen minutes curled next to the bowl, wishing I hadn't had lunch, if only today were a fasting day. I felt my intestines start to feel like the lead balloon had slid down a bit, and my guts filled with more misery and hot lead, my body seemed to be preparing to explode with how much pressure and pain crawled through it. My friend made the call, as I had requested, and my boss told them that I needed to call in later. I gagged more over the toilet, and felt something climb halfway, just to fall right back down.
My vision doubled for a few moments, until I crawled out of the bathroom and curled up in a nearby chair, trying my best not to cry, I couldn't let the Mc Rib take my dignity, too, after all, or so I thought. I sat there for about an hour, gagging and feeling my guts turn, but still alive, somehow. That's when the putrid acid-breath decided to come out and play. I let out a belch of pure acid, the flavor nearly matching that of the Mc Rib, but with more caustic cleaning chemical stench to it, almost like the sandwich had decided to team up with my stomach acid to make hotel-grade sheet cleaner.
This is also about the time where I began to see things in weird colors. My eyes wouldn't stop twitching left and right, and it made everything appear to have a slight RGB effect as my limbs and body felt extremely cold, despite me at some point finding the time to put on my sweatshirt. My friend began making jokes about me in their Telegram group of people that worship the Mc Rib, and the advice they gave was "You didn't respect the Rib."
My friend called all their herbalist friends, none had any suggestions other than "keep a bucket nearby, cling to that toilet bowl, and pray." My friend told me to try some peptobismol, so I did, I took the dose of 2 tablespoons, and immediately regretted it. The lead in my stomach instantly turned to acid, burning like hot magma in an erupting volcano. I immediately ran back to the toilet to empty my stomach again, but barely anything came up, and what did come up was putrid.
My friend then made tea for me, one that was supposed to settle my stomach, and I laid in the chair for a good hour until my shift was about to start. I realized that there was no way I could defeat the unholy might of the Mc Rib before my shift started, so I decided to accept defeat and try the tea, and some miserable hours of regretting my choice on luncheon meal.
This is basically 2020's last hurrah, it's the remake of the Harribo sugar free gummy bears, but painted with sugar and an enticing name. Don't make the same mistake I did, lest you prepare your digestive tract for insurmountable misery and torment for hours to come.