Uproxx Once upon a time, on a flight from Los Angeles to Oklahoma, a man behind me described the concept of a “ Make Your Own Burger ” restaurant to his seat partner. “First, you pick a bun!” he said in loud bellow, meant for the nearly deaf or perhaps to scare away any bears that might be on the airplane. I did not see him, but I imagine he was also lifting his arms up to look big and imposing. Airplane bears are easily frightened if you look large and are loud. “You can pick a regular bun,” he continued, shouting. “Or a sesame bun. They’ve got those pretzel buns, honey wheat. Or a Hawaiian bun. Or…” he said as if he were about to reveal the location of the Holy Grail, “you could do no bun at all! Make it a salad.” While I appreciated the man’s enthusiasm as he described (topping by topping) every goddamn choice one could possibly find at a “Make Your Own Burger ” establishment, it was 5:30am. I had been up since 3am. And I thought I was going to get to nap, but instead, I spen
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