July 28: Sticky Situation

Have you ever chewed a piece of gum so long that it literally dissolves in your mouth? It's disgusting and I don't recommend it.

It's the beginning of the shift and I just finished a delicious egg and brisket taco. Pieces of stringy brisket nestle into the crevices of my back molars. The taste of salsa sits on my breath as I flip through the side duties book to see what I need to be working on. Aware that I will be talking in close proximity with complete strangers, I reach into my apron and grab the last piece of sugar-free Peppermint Orbitz.

Weeks of riding in my pocket against my warm body and sitting idle on the front seat of my truck in the hot summer sun has caused the last remaining stick of polyisobutylene with artificial sweeteners to harden in the waxy wrapper it's packaged in. Not only is it difficult for me to pry the wrapped gum from its pack without tearing it in half, but once free, I struggle to unwrap the stick of gum.

Proud of myself for undressing it without completely ruining it, I slowly bring it to my lips, grasp it between the tip of my tongue and my front teeth, close my eyes, and pull it into my dry mouth. Just like those Doublemint twins and Big Red models taught me in the commercials of my youth. Whether I'm chewing a new piece of Juicy Fruit or a small stick of Trident, I can't resist casting myself in a gum commercial of my own. Ask me sometime and I'll show you what I mean.

Anyway, the night progresses and the gum loses its flavor. The consistency stays roughly the same until about an hour in. At this point, the gum becomes rubber and chewing it becomes more of a chore than a pleasurable involuntary and repetitive motion of chews. Because it's a relatively busy night at work, I continue doing my thing and I don't pay attention to the flavorless piece of tire that's in my mouth.

Before I know it, seven hours have passed and I'm behind the wheel of my truck driving home trying to decide what I'm going to write about. As I chew and contemplate various topics that have been running through my head all night I wonder what inning the Padre game is in. How pissed off will I be when I see the score?

Then, from out of nowhere, my gum instantaneously turns soft and its smooth, contoured texture becomes a gooey, soggy ball of construction paper and starchy paste. It doesn't stick to itself. It sticks to my teeth and my tongue. My mouth can't comprehend the sudden lack of plaything and begins to salivate in hopes of finding something. My jaws stop and the grainy lump sits on my tongue and waits for me to dispose of it. I can't. It sits and melts over the surface of my tongue like a stick of margarine on a hot stove. I can't take it anymore. I open my car door and let it fall out on to the passing pavement. I can't spit it out because it doesn't have a form. I would just end up spitting a spray of rotten mess all over the opened door.

Gum is great. I always have a pack in my truck and in my apron at work. It masks the stench of my breath beautifully and it helps me concentrate on the agonizingly difficult task of waiting on needy people. It keeps the tartar and plaque buildup minimized and I just look cool when I chew it. I don't recommend, however, chewing it for more than five hours. I don't know the exact cutoff between tire and paste which is why I feel five hours is a safe bet. If you want to chew longer, be my guest but beware of the disgusting mess you'll soon encounter.