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They are perhaps Rutgers' most infamous landmark. They are one of the first things discussed by incoming first-years. And they just received the ever-prestigious Maxim Magazine Best Sandwich Award...or something. So you may be wondering what all the fuss is about.
The Grease Trucks - in case you're an ignorant jive sucka in need of a lesson - are on the corner of College Ave. and Hamilton St. They serve various bits of fried meat (and other stuff if you're not careful), covered in sauce of some kind and usually stuffed into a big, fat roll. Most of it is delicious, and most of it will make you feel your body being altered by fat-induced coagulating where there shouldn't be coagulating.
Something like this could only attain mythic status in today's United States. As we've expanded over the past few decades, we Americans have also contrarily become more health conscious. The Grease Trucks fill both of our conflicting desires: to eat fat-filled, greasy food and to feel guilty about eating fat-filled, greasy food.
Of course we don't actually do anything with our new scientific health knowledge. The rapidly expanding plus-sized cummerbund business has shown us that. It's a growth industry. But we do like to worry about all the fat we're eating before, while and after we eat it. The grease trucks, with their flamboyantly unhealthy menu offer us a fun-filled opportunity to do just that. Visit the trucks during a busy period and hear "I can't believe I ate the whole thing" repeated at least a dozen times. Also look out for those rare "Fat Cats in Washington" jokes. They never fail to amuse the drunks.
Speaking of which, it should be noted that once the sun goes down, a good half of the greasy patrons are krunked beyond coherence. Their arteries are being filled with beast-soothing animal fat, so they're never dangerous, but they can be something of a nuisance. Keep an eye out for pictures taped to some of the trucks of girls flashing the camera. Some of the males were having a good time finding pictures of girls they knew. I thought it was about as titillating as watching a dog hump my little sister: harmless, but creepy nonetheless.
On the other hand, the variety of person found at the trucks was refreshing: nervous freshman, experienced seniors, non-college students, spitting males, hesitant females. The cooks who work the truck windows are all sweethearts. They love to talk and they'll always treat you like a friend. It's an atmospheric mix of camaraderie and drunken idiocy.
For my part, I tried a Fat Bitch. It was at least twice as large as my stomach, but I forced it all down. Why I felt the need to force it down is beyond me, but there's something about the ambiance of the trucks conducive to food-cramming. The sandwich tasted good, but toward the end the flavors of its ingredients combined into a non-descript kind of bland fat. Tip for the wise: forego the novelty of the fat sandwiches and order something off the smaller menu. It will be tastier, cheaper and you won't feel obliged to cram anything anywhere.
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