I tried to order Battered Fish and Chips. They were out. Strike one.

So I pivoted to the Bacon Ranch Grilled Chicken Sandwich. A mistake. Apparently, Applebee’s missed the memo from the “Don’t Drown Your Food” PSA. The sandwich arrived swimming in Ranch—so much that the chicken breast was actively trying to escape the bun. I had to perform a rescue operation, extracting the slippery protein and eating it solo, like some sad, sauce-slicked survivor.

Strike two.

To round out the evening, I ordered a Sugar Free Red Bull. Because clearly, sleep deprivation needed a wingman. I haven’t had caffeine in years. Maybe I was chasing chaos. Maybe I wanted to see if those Red Bull Wings would lift me out of this culinary disappointment. Spoiler: they didn’t.

Strike three. I’m out.