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The BCS visits OBNUG headquarters (Dairy Queen); Or, Revenge of the Last-Minute Chicken Quesadilla Guy

(This is the second of two related posts. Here is the first)

A Dairy Queen trainee has a lot of important things to learn, but perhaps none as important as a strong dose of fear at the worst of menu items--the chicken quesadilla.

Everybody in the store plays a part in teaching this lesson. I remember my first day, after clocking in for the first time and heading to the kitchen, a front-end worker pulled me aside and whispered into my ear.

"Be careful back there..." she cautioned.

"Um... I'll try not to burn myself or anything."

"Burn yourself? I'm afraid that's the least of your worries." She paused, frowning slightly, then continued. "Nobody told you about Jimmy did they? The guy you're replacing? Rumor has it three chicken quesadillas popped up on the screen at the same time and nobody ever heard from him again!"

I wasn't quite sure how to respond. "Chicken quesadillas? We make those?"

"Shhhhhhhhhhh... not so loud. Trust me, you don't want anybody to know."

Sure that she was joking, I cracked a smile.

"You're not taking me seriously are you," she chastised. "Look, a single chicken queso (as those in the biz call it) takes at least five minutes to make, and you can't really do anything else at the same time. That means if there's another order after the queso, you won't even start on it until about when the customer's expecting it to be done. And then you realize you haven't thrown down any patties and you're out of ketchup, lettuce, and corn dogs! Soon, the whole world implodes!"

Six months later, I realized just how true those words were. My new association with head coach Chris Petersen had found me some new enemies... and somehow they'd figured out how to get to me.

----------------------

The clock was ticking down to the end of a nice, easy shift, and I found myself sighing with relief. Tonight would be a quick close.

Another day in the books! I thought to myself, smiling.

Suddenly, the PA system beeped, alerting us to a drive-thru customer who managed to sneak in during the final seconds.

"Um... yeah, can I get three chicken quesadillas?"

You son of a ... !

I glanced at my perfectly clean grill, my perfectly clean toaster, and my perfectly clean counters-tops. Their perfection wouldn't last long.

The old front-end worker's words echoed through my mind.

"Nobody told you about Jimmy did they? The guy you're replacing? Rumor has it three chicken quesadillas popped up on the screen at the same time and nobody ever heard from him again!"

But, just as all hope seemed lost, a deep voice sounded from behind me.

"Three chicken quesos during the final seconds of the night... bummer."

"Coach Petersen!"

"Here, let me see if I've still got it." Coach Pete whipped on a pair of large size latex gloves, threw down three pieces of chicken, and opened a package of tortillas.

I stood there, mouth agape. "You know how to work the kitchen at DQ?"

"I know a lot of things, Kevan. But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate others' analysis. I just wanted to stop by and let you know you all did good work last week. You do good work every week. Keep it up."

After only two minutes or so, Coach Pete was nearly done with two quesadillas, while I was about halfway through with my first. I considered trying to tell Pete the truth again--that I'm not Kevan and I've never met any of the OBNUG chairmen. I couldn't do it. Personal visits from the greatest football coach in the world are just too cool, you know? Actually, I guess you don't.

"Yeah, we try to do a good job. Takes a lot of time and effort, but you know... we have a good time doing it and we think its worth it."

Coach Pete boxed both of his quesadillas as I finally finished mine. He held a third box open for me, and after the final queso was properly packaged, I started handing the boxes out the window to the customer.

"Have a good night, sir!"

"Oh, I intend too... Kevan. The name's Bill Hancock, the current director of the Bowl Championship Series. And I'll be ordering chicken quesadillas every night until your infernal site stops producing game-winning analysis! If you guys could just lose one blasted game we could be done with this whole National Championship crap! You see, we can probably keep you out of the title picture (didn't see that whole Oklahoma thing comin' did you!), but that just gives you naysayers more firepower. No, we need you to drop a game! See ya tomorrow Kev!"

Hancock's car sped off. I was devastated. Remembering Coach Pete's presence, I looked at him pleadingly.

He just smiled. "You're not going to let a couple chicken quesadillas keep you down are you?"

"I don't know... I can't make them as fast as you. The BCS probably has the power to run our store into the ground."

Coach Pete laughed. "You think I'd allow that? Tell ya what, you keep writing blogs, I'll see if I can get a couple players to help you out each night."

It was more than I could ever have hoped for. Besides, it wasn't like I was about to ask the real Kevan to shut down OBNUG. "Deal. Although, doesn't it seem as though we should do something more to fight back?"

"No. We won't worry about any of that BCS mumbo jumbo until December. I swear I've said that a million times. We're just going to worry about what we can control, one week at a time."

And I knew it was true. Coach Pete was too good to play their game. He wouldn't blow opponents out to get "style points" or boost Kellen's Heisman hopes. He wouldn't whine at press conferences about how unjust the system is. And if the BCS had super-secret headquarters at a fast food chain, he wouldn't demean himself by ordering the toughest item on the menu right before close every night. He would, however, make sure the Broncos were ready to play week after week, prepared for even the lowliest of WAC opponents.

Leaving for home, I couldn't wait for the next night.

This content was not created by OBNUG and therefore may not meet our standards. On the contrary, it probably exceeds them.

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