I’m a pharmacology major, and I work in a lab where we study addiction. The threshold for “addiction” is commonly defined as the point at which someone will continue to take a drug, despite negative consequences associated with taking that drug. For example, a cocaine-addicted lab rat will be unable to stop taking cocaine, even though it gets shocked after taking it. Not to downplay addiction, but I got pretty close to crossing that line. I got so close, that my simple desire to eat some famous Nashville hot chicken almost cost me $200. So how did I get to that point?

In September, I flew to Nashville for an interview. The interview was on Monday, but I flew in on Sunday so I could explore the city (by explore, I mean eat). I took an Uber literally straight from the airport to Pancake Pantry. I was in a full suit, dragging a suitcase behind me at 2 PM on a Sunday in line for a pancake joint, so I definitely got a few glances. I had eaten here once before when I visited schools for undergrad, so I ignored the looks and, instead, fixated my attention on preparing my body for these heavenly pancakes.

Ten minutes later, I’m seated at a table by myself, and ten minutes after that, my food arrives. Dopamine floods into my synapses, my heart starts pounding, I feel nothing but pure joy as I look at my Banana Bread Pancakes and Grill Cook’s Medley (mound of hash browns with onions, green peppers, and tomatoes, topped with melted American + Swiss cheese, plus over easy eggs). I dig in and imagine that I’ll probably feel almost this happy at my wedding and the birth of my first child.

After eating that absurd amount of food, I call my hotel and they notify me that my room still isn’t ready. I walk down the street to Jeni’s Ice Cream, because I can only do so much damage to my body within a two hour period, right? I order a scoop of Salty Caramel and a scoop of Vanilla. They accidentally give me Salted Peanut Butter Chocolate instead of Salty Caramel, but it's still delicious enough to suppress my complaints.

Hoping to get Nashville's famous hot chicken for dinner later that evening, I look up the most popular places and realize that they’re either closed on Sundays, or more than 6 miles away. Thus, I'm forced to postpone my hot chicken plans. Instead, I exercise for a couple of hours later that evening (~~balance what you eat and what you do~~), walk around the Parthenon, and then get a calm night’s sleep for the big day up ahead.

When they hand us the schedule for our interview day the following morning, my first reaction is to think through whether I can make time to grab hot chicken on my way to the airport. It turned out that the last talk scheduled ended at 3 pm, and my flight was at 5:34 pm. That’s a solid window. I make note that I’ll call my order ahead, Uber to pick it up, and then head straight for the airport.

A couple of hours before the day is over, I overhear some of my fellow interviewees discussing how they really want to try hot chicken. I jump in the conversation and soon enough, we make plans to all head to Hattie B’s – Nashville's most famous hot chicken vendor – before going to the airport. While I usually just travel in my suit to avoid wrinkling it, everyone else wanted to change, so we wait about half an hour before getting everyone together to put in a group order. We set our pickup time for the soonest available, 4:15 pm, and then head over to Hattie B’s in a giant Chevy Suburban UberXL that smelled like a marijuana farm.

We all pick up our food at exactly 4:15 pm. Seeing as my flight is at 5:34, I have TSA Pre-Check, the airport is 10 minutes away, and everyone else’s flight is much later, I suggest we all sit down and eat before heading for the airport. As we open our boxes to dig into our food, I take a second just to stare at the marvel of the hot chicken. The bright flame red coating is a beauty to behold.

My mouth salivates in excitement as I wonder: will the spice balance live up to that of my current standard, the Spicy Chick-Fil-A Sandwich? The answer is yes. Though I ordered the "Hot!" heat level (why else would I get hot chicken), the spiciness is perfect. It had just the right kick of flavor without burning or numbing my taste buds. The hot chicken had a weekend's worth of hype to live up to, and it did just that.

We all finish around 4:30 pm, and as I order the Uber, I calmly map the route to the airport, forgetting one crucial thing. It’s 4:30 on a Monday. Rush hour. There’s an accident. The map says 45 minutes. FORTY-FIVE MINUTES to drive eight miles. My estimated arrival is now 5:15. My flight takes off at 5:34. A drop of sweat drips down my forehead.

Of course, to make matters worse, surge prices suddenly go into effect. We call two separate Ubers since it ends up being cheaper than an UberXL. The Uber I call takes longer to get to us, since I’m the one in a hurry and Ubers can smell fear, so I end up hopping in the earlier Uber. I frantically leave my name, phone number, the name of the driver, the license plate, and the make and model of the car with the two other interviewees so they can get in my Uber when it gets there.

During the slow, nerve-wracking drive to the airport, it takes every ounce of effort for me to maintain my composure so the other two interviewees in the Uber don’t get another bad impression to accompany their already terrible impression of me as the biggest idiot in the world. I picture myself as the dog meme sitting at the coffee table, while everything around him is on fire, thinking, “This is fine.”

I glance in the mirror and catch myself making the same face as the meme. It’s fine. Worst case scenario I’ll just pay the change fee. The change fee – oh my god, it’s $200. I couldn’t resist the temptation of hot chicken, and now it might cost me $200. I think about quitting food cold turkey right then and there, never to eat again for the rest of my life.

The Uber gets to the airport at 5:19 PM. Reminder: my flight takes off at 5:34. The boarding door usually closes ten minutes prior to departure. Fifteen minus ten equals five – I’m glad I go to college. That gives me five minutes to make it to the boarding door from the entrance of the airport. Shit. I do this math in my head as we pull up to the departure zone. I jump out of the car and open the trunk in one smooth motion (I tripped), grab my suitcase, and start sprinting toward security.

Everyone sees me coming. A few people give me nods like, “Yeah, we’ve been there too bro.” Luckily, I encounter no resistance as I sprint through the security because everyone else there knows how to be an adult and actually get to airports early before their flight.

I run through the Pre-Check line, drop my bag on the conveyer belt, and essentially speed walk through the metal detector. It goes off. I go back through, hastily take off my leather dress shoes, throw them on the belt, and walk through again. I grab my bag and shoes and sprint across the terminal in my socks. By some small miracle, the gate is the first one on the left. By some large miracle, they’ve only just started boarding. It’s 5:20 pm. I've made it from the entrance to the gate in one minute, and (most importantly) I was going to make my flight.

That hot chicken experience was not going to cost me $200. Lesson learned. Never again.

Except, P.S. 2 weeks later I almost missed a connection at the Atlanta airport because I decided to go to the Chick-Fil-A in Terminal A thirty minutes before my flight. I was the second to last one through the boarding door.

P.P.S. Yes, it was worth it.