It’s 11:53. As I sit in fourth period, desperately looking for the will to live, the emergence of an iMessage icon on my computer (thank God for BYOD) revives my heartbeat. The message is simple, yet carries the weight of the world: “Lunch?”

“Ya,” I slyly reply.  “Where at?” another friend types.

Possibly the hardest decision I will make all day, all week, and possibly all my life:  Where to eat? Oh the choices.. In-n-Out, Chipotle, House of Bagels, New York Pizza, the options are endless.

Then, it happens. Chick-fil-a is suggested and agreed upon. Things just got real. A whopping 4.5 miles and 12 minutes away.  We know there is no time for lethargy. We need to HUSTLE.

A trip to Chick-Fil-A is no ordinary lunch trip. It is a journey. A voyage. A pilgrimage.

11:59 now. I attempt to pack up my backpack as quietly as possible. I am unsuccessful in my inconspicuousness, getting a heartstopping glare from my teacher.  But it will be worth it, oh so worth it, when I bite into the perfection that is a Chick-Fil-A sandwich.

The bell rings and I sprint out of the classroom. In the parking lot I meet my fellow journeymen. A look of despair comes across our three faces. We realize me have made the gravest of mistakes: we have not yet decided who will be driving. Willing to do anything for the amazing, amazing breaded chicken, I take on the burden of shepherding us to our destination.

Ok, so far so, good. It’s 12:02 and we’ve managed to make it out of the BPL. Avoiding the stragglers in the parking lot and making it past the Guardian of the BPL, Al (how can one’s eyes be so piercing when concealed under sunglasses?), we’re off to a good start.

Our luck is short lived, as we soon encounter a slow driving grandmother.

12:16 and we finally make it, but alas, another roadblock to chicken, a line. While this puts our timing in jeopardy, I cannot fault these other like minded individuals for also yearning for a chicken sandwich.

As I finally dig into my sandwich, all of my struggles melt away. The crispy chicken, the soft bun, and the sauce. THE SAUCE. Don’t even get me started on the sauce.

As profound a happiness the sandwich provides, it is short lived. The second leg of the journey must commence. Of those who have summited Mt. Everest, many have stated that the descent is much more challenging than the climb. This is the challenge we faced.
12:35 — it’s tight, but we can make it. With a full stomach and loud music, we are feeling great. With skillful maneuvering and a questionably legal speed, we manage to make it back in time for fifth period. While it will be difficult to stay awake with so much fried goodness in our stomachs lulling us to sleep, it is all worth it.