The vegetarian special

       Years ago, while biking home, I stopped at a Burger King.  The marquee outside the fast-food restaurant advertised $1 Whoopers.  At the cash register, I bought three and stuffed them into my backpack.  Turning toward the exit, I came face to face with two close friends.  One of them was vegan, and a vigilant animal-rights activist. The other was a vegetarian.  In the previous few years, when eating food with the vegan, I had never eaten meat.  Several times, under her influence and that of others, I had tried to become vegetarian.  At least once, I managed to go a few months without eating meat. But when holidays like Thanksgiving came around, I'd eat some turkey then tumble hard off the no meat wagon. I never told my friends about my attempts to become vegetarian.  I never told them that I ate meat.  But around them, especially the vegan, I tried to act like a vegetarian. 
           "What are you doing here?" I asked, defensively holding my backpack. We were at least two miles away from either of our homes.  I knew they hadn't stopped for the Whoopers.
           "To use the bathroom," the vegan said.  Neither of them asked me why I was there.  We talked for a few minutes, then I left for home, wondering if they knew what was in my backpack.     
          Sometime later, I confessed to the vegan that I was embarrassed to see her at the Burger King.
          "Why?" the vegan asked.
          "Because I had Whoopers in my bag.  I thought you believed I was a vegetarian."
          "I know you eat meat," the vegan laughed. "I never thought you were vegetarian."  I was relieved, but also perplexed that my efforts to act like a vegetarian didn't convince. 
          I don't often listen to the radio program "This American Life," but a few years later, I heard what has always been my favorite "This American Life" segment. The theme of the episode had something to do with pretending to be who you are not. One segment was about a young man going off to college.  One night while hanging out with about a dozen other students in a dorm room, he spontaneously created this persona for himself.  When offered a slice of pizza with meat on it, he declined, explaining that his parents were vegetarian and that he had never in his life tasted meat.  He spent his first semester convincing his skeptical peers that he had never tasted a Big Mac. In the segment, the college freshman shared stories about he and his father buying Arby's Roast Beef Sandwiches in bulk, then storing them in his freezer: and stories about the time he panicked when his mother and father came to visit over Parents Weekend.  To avoid the chance of any of his new college friends witnessing his mother or father eat meat, he took his parents to a vegetarian restaurant.
         I loved the story. The college freshman was ridiculous and he reminded me of myself.  His efforts to create a new persona reflected my own failed attempts to life a certain lifestyle and to convince others I lived that life style.  
        Nearly 20 years have passed since the day I bumped into my two friends at the Burger King.   For the last 12 years or so, instead of trying to become a vegetarian, I've put myself on a five days off, two days on cycle. Monday through Friday I don't eat meat. Saturday and Sunday, I do.   I can't call myself a vegetarian, but I kind of like the routine because no one else I know follows it, and because the routine works for me. 
       I listen to radio even less now than I did when I first heard the "This American Life" story.  But just last weekend, Chicago Public Radio replayed the segment about the pretend vegetarian at college.  I heard the story while driving home from the grocery store.  At first, I wasn't positive it was the same story.  After parking the car, I kept listening to the segment.  Then the story came to the part of the young man hoarding Arby's Roast Beef Sandwiches.  I smirked with delight, knowing it was the same story.  The title of the story replayed last weekend was, "The Sun Never Sets on the Moosewood Restaurant," under the theme, "Hoaxing Yourself." 
      A lot has changed since I ran into my friends at the Burger King so long ago.  I can't remember if I've been to a Burger King since then, (why would I go? The best I've seen them offer on a marque is two Whoopers for $5).  But hearing the story for a second time helped remind me that I'm not much different from who I was so long ago.  We don't see each other nearly as often now, my two friends and I.  But when I do see the vegan, I still won't eat meat around her, even if it's a Saturday.