BC Separation Anxiety is a blog where I lament all things Boston College related that I will sorely miss this summer. I will do my best not to be whiney, but the struggle is real and sometimes I just won’t be able to help myself. Deal with it. A senior who just graduated also told me that I have no right to complain, since I’ll be returning to the Heights in September. Again, deal with it. But to that I say: you may need this blog just as much, if not more, than I do.
In my last blog I very dubiously asked if Late Night delivered. I know, I know. It was a bold request. Especially since I live about an hour and a half from campus.
Now clearly I am talking about Lower Late Night. I’m sorry for all of you Newton-ites and Mac-daddies but it really is the one true Late Night. And if you have ever been to Lower Late Night, then you know exactly who runs the show most nights: Mr. Argyle-Sweater-Vest. He paces around, clipboard in hand, with watchful eyes constantly on the lookout for the casual deep-pocketed wrap thief.
You could say he’s quite the celebrity, but I don’t know his name. Rumor has it nobody knows his name. (That’s a blatant lie, just go with it.) But he always rocks some sort of sweater vest and a goatee, making him instantly recognizable to any self-respecting Late Night regular.
So imagine my surprise when lo’ and behold I actually got a response to my desperate plea for a F’Real from the King of Late Night, the Ruler of Mozz Stix Land, The Sultan of Swag: Mr. Argyle-Sweater-Vest himself:
I’m truly honored that you miss Late Night enough to even request a delivery service. Unfortunately the logistical problems would just be too hard to overcome. By the time we reached you in Worcester the Mozzarella Sticks would be cold, the fries would be soggy, and the Honey Q sauce would have leaked through the wrap. And needless to say the F’real would have melted into a puddle.
On behalf of all the Staff here at Late Night I am truly, truly sorry. I know this news may have put a damper on your entire summer, so please let me make this tragedy up to you. You’ll soon find that your local Cumby’s (That’s Cumberland Farms Convenience Store for you out-of-staters.) will mysteriously have installed a F’Real machine.
Now I’m not saying I had to do some pretty heavy black market deals to make that happen, but I’m also not going to deny that any illegal activity or bribery took place. It’s really best not to look into it. Just enjoy your F’Real’s.
With my compliments,
Mr. Argyle-Sweater-Vest, a.k.a. The King of Late Night.
(Disclaimer: This e-mail is a fabricated explanation of the sudden appearance of a F’real machine in my local Cumby’s. I can only assume The King of Late Night read my blog and responded accordingly.)
SUCCESS! I have acquired a F’Real machine. That is 1/3 of my usual Late Night order, so we are cooking with gas my friends. Next, since Mr. Argyle-Sweater-Vest won’t be delivering me Mozz Stix any time soon, I am off on the hunt for some premium DIY mozzarella sticks.
This is where the story turns sad and my dream of recreating Late Night miserably fails. Did you know 1) Mozz Stix are not called Mozz Stix in the real world and helpful Stop N’ Shop employees will just look at you confusedly when you ask what aisle they’re in, and 2) IN THE REAL WORLD MOZZ STIX DO NOT COME WITH MARINARA SAUCE?!
Mind blowing, I know. Apparently people eat them plain or with Ketchup. Which is just downright blasphemous if you ask me. So I had to give up on my Mozz Stix dreams. Admittedly the biggest obstacle to achieving those dreams was my lack of a deep fryer. I could have bought one but I just ain’t about that lifestyle.
The final bit of Late Night that I epically failed at imitating was the wrap station. It can’t be done. I don’t have a wrap steamer, and I just don’t have the talent required to mold those beauteous Honey Q wraps. My sauce proportions were out of control, the lettuce was falling out the bottom, and the wrap kept ripping. Let it go on the record that I’m not cut out for this line of work.
It was this sad fact that forced me to realize I really have no shot at recreating the wondrous place that is Lower Late Night. I can’t cook. I can try, but it usually doesn’t end well. Which is especially terrifying considering I have to live off campus without a meal plan next semester.
So au revoir Late Night, I hope we meet again soon. Desperation will probably drive me to your door early on next semester, whether I have a meal plan or not. You're closed for the summer anyways, so at least everyone is in the same sad, boat with me.
In the meantime, I have my new F’Real machine to keep me company during the long summer. Holla’ at my boy Mr. Argyle-Sweater-Vest for making that happen (I know he was behind it somehow) and for making my Late Night separation anxiety a bit more bearable.
(Random disclaimer: I got my tonsils out two days ago and the pain meds are definitely still affecting my ability to think clearly. If any part of this blog seemed far-fetched or just plain trippy, blame the Oxycontin.)