I finally found it. The search is over. All of my years of hard work have led to this. I now know where the slowest Wendy's is. It's right between Baum Boulevard and Centre Avenue, just west of Graham Street in Pittsburgh. Phew! What a relief!

Now, I know what you're thinking. "No Charlie, my local Wendy's takes 5-ever to get me my food." Well, that may be, but this Wendy's is slower. Your gonna hate the way they cook. I guarantee it.

When I got in there, the line was about five people long. Ten minutes later, I gave my order of nuggets, fries, and an ice tea. Complicated, I know, but doable. Ten minutes go by, and I am still waiting. The people before me have all received their food. Another ten minutes go by, and I am still waiting. The people behind me have all received their food.

Listen, I get it, I'm forgettable. It's very hard to remember someone like me. But that being said, I didn't order anything you have to actually cook. It's all reheated straight out of the freezer anyway, and by reheated, I mean deep fried. "Always fresh, never frozen." Never frozen when you get it because it was deep fried before they gave it to you. My tone with them is the only thing that is always fresh.

What's that you ask, lady behind the counter? What did I order? Well, I had an iced tea, which you gave me and I've drank half of, a six-piece chicken nuggets, and a large fries. Oh, your sorry? Thanks, but that doesn't really satisfy my hunger, which is maybe ironic, cause I'm about to make you eat those words.

I pull out my handgun. Give me all of the ketchup you have, or the lemonade machine gets it. She shovels ketchup into the bag. I fire a warning shot into the air. "This is what happens when fast food becomes slow," I shout at the top of lungs. I back away slowly, gun still aimed at the lemonade machine. I duck out of the front door and scurry off into the crisp, frigid night. When life gives you lemons, shoot the lemonade machine.