June 30, 2015
Fast Food Line Hijinx

The other day while trapped in a lethargic fast food drive-through line, my eyes were drawn to a fellow customer up ahead, and I amused myself by watching her place an order.  There certainly was a whole lot of action going on as she sat and dictated her order into the talking box mounted on the big menu board.

She knew just what her carload of hungry souls wanted and was busy conveying that message to the receiver on the other end of that box, gesticulating like a zealous lecturer behind a podium.  Suffice it to say there was a whole lot of hand language going on.  In particular there was finger pointing as she jabbed the air to emphasize the medium cola that she wanted with the Happy Meal, and swiping of the air in a gesture of grandiose flair when the attendant had repeated the order as dictated.  It was a sight to behold.  

I couldn't help but wonder just what this woman did when she wasn't behind the wheel of an S.U.V. filled with children.  Perhaps a teacher, or a minister, or a school crossing guard.  Or maybe she just liked to let her hands do the speaking. Some folks are like that.

Then it was my turn and I inched up to the talking box to express my ravenous wishes.  Slowly and distinctly, I spoke into the box, telling the clerk behind the counter just what I wanted.  In turn, the talking box uttered a tinny, "Can you rep-----t  t---at?" Once again I conveyed my wishes for a chicken sandwich and small fry.  "Whah?" the box retorted to me.  This was getting just a little bit trite I thought jovially.  

And then I heard, "Sir, you'll have to turn off your truck because it's making too much noise."  Okay, I thought, looking around for a gentleman driving a four-wheel drive truck or semi-tractor rig to whom I could pass along this message.  There was no one else in sight.  They must have been talking to me, I deduced.  So I dutifully switched off my little Volkswagen diesel car and repeated my order yet again. Slowly, determinedly, purposefully.

Voile', this time I could be heard and my order was confirmed!  As I crept away from the little voice box I heard a voice trailing, "Did you want an apple pie with that order sir," it queried.  Too late, I thought.  That would only mess up my order and the poor clerk wouldn't have an inkling  how to manually add the cost to my total charges. Besides, I had already scrounged in my purse for the exact change of $2.38 and was busy wrapping it all in a little bundle to hand to the cashier.  I like doing that, it kind of makes their day because they don't have to do anything but count the change and place it in the cash register.  

Makes me smile.

I made it to the ribbon, crossed the finish line, a bag of lunch in hand.  As I drove away I marveled at a world in which we live,  with food at our fingertips at a moment's notice and  never having to leave the safety of one's car.  Fast food it is called.  And it hits the hunger spot nicely at times.  

Now if they could only find a way to make a voice box that actually communicates in a lucid manner.  That would be progress indeed.  But then again, it would take all the fun out of ordering fast food from a take-out lane I suppose.