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A Hero With American Cheese

The darkness of the auditorium blinded us at first, but when our eyes adjusted we began catching glimpses of it. Intermittent lasers of gold pierced the serving line procession and snatched our attention, like a dollar bill in the dirt, or a flash of bare flesh. When we made it up to the front, where managers, directors, and VPs stood behind a serving table, smiling threats and doling out burgers and potato salad, we spotted the obscenity. It sat alone on a table next to them in all its unabashed glory - a slow flowing, golden glowing fountain of nacho cheese. The smooth and shimmering triple-tiered spectacle undulated like a stripper at the stage pole. It stood shamelessly naked, an icon of our age, a monument to excess, gluttony, and poor taste.

On my way to a table I had one of those moments where the scene fogs over, the mind pans back, and in a flash of stark clarity, an enlightened vision crystallizes. I saw my place in the cosmos: nameless citizen of the post-industrial world's richest empire. One founded by rugged, primitive explorers harsh, self-reliant and fearless - whose descendants now sit with plump rumps nestled in lazy-boys, one hand remotely exploring the frontiers of cable TV, the other buried deep in an economy size bag of chips.

Fortunately, the conversation that sprouted at my table obliterated the profound and unpleasant insight.

"Hey, R.D., five bucks if you do a header in the cheese fountain."

I checked Randy-Dan for his response. His face contorted as he tried to suppress a laugh, but he managed to avoid spraying out a mouthful of burger with his muffled reply.

"What?"

"A header full coverage from the neck up. Who's with me?" Frank reached into his wallet and slapped a five on the table.

"I'm in for twenty." I was caught up in the moment.

"Another twenty here." Ken matched my offer.

In a few seconds, one hundred and five dollars lay on the table. R.D.shook his head in disbelief, but kept looking at the cash, then back up at the fountain. He was feeling the pressure.

Randy Dan is not one to take a dare lightly, especially this one. Here was a chance to become a company legend and make art at the same time, not to mention over a hundred bucks.

Randy-Dan is a big, fair-headed Midwesterner. Eating is, and always has been much more to him than a biological necessity. He is a fan of the I.F.O.C.E. (International Federation of Competitive Eaters) and once even tried to launch a fantasy competitive eating league, but it never

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