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According to Hofmann: Drive-thru blues

By Mark Hofmann mhofmann@heraldstandard.Com 5 min read
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Sometimes the journey of life mimics the journey of a fast-food drive-thru– a slow, agonizing adventure and not the quick and wacky misadventure like the ads have promised.

Maybe itĢƵ just me, but even though these fast-food places are open 24/7/365/3.14, it seems like everyone goes there at the same exact time as me, which always happens to be lunchtime on the weekend– go figure!

Normally I go when my wife and daughter and mother want food and the dog wants to eat whatever falls on the floor that I didn’t eat off the floor first, and they always pounce on me to hit the drive-thru when I announce I have to go to the store for rat poison and ice cream for no particular reason.

I always protest, but they insist because itĢƵ a drive-thru (or through?), and it would be quicker than standing in line for fast food.

That notion comes from the false idea that, to save precious time, the single drive-thru line that used to wrap around the entire restaurant can be replaced by the two separate lines that only wrap half way around the restaurant.

In my experience, it does and it doesn’t save time, but it really doesn’t.

I remember a fast-food restaurant once had a booth in the drive-thru with an actual live employee inside to take your order to help eliminate any confusion and wrong orders. However, the social ramifications didn’t dawn on anyone at the moment that once you eliminate confusion, you’re then left with awkwardness.

For example, you place your order with the live person and then you have nothing to do but stare at each other until the traffic jam ahead of you finally clears so you can go thru (or threw?) or it ends whenever your or the employeeĢƵ mind breaks.

Only after I place the order, it dawns on me that I have to pay for the order — in the past, a few high-speed police chases have occurred from me forgetting to do so.

To do so, my car creeps away from the speaker to join the payment line as I’m keeping the eye on the vehicle at the other order window to make sure they don’t get any wise ideas to cut in front of me.

At the same time, I’m attempting to pay with exact change by first repeating the price over and over again while burying my fingers under my seat belt and into my pocket, trying to make my body ridged to free up more room in my pocket so my fingers can scrape together what feels like the right amount of change.

Anyone seeing me would likely believe I’m in the middle of some violent epileptic seizure while trying to drive my car.

When I finally got to the first window to pay, the employee opened the window, staring at a screen as they began to talk, but they always talk way too fast to be understood when they’re reciting my order.

“Okay, stans frantz by double fly?” is what I hear before I answered.

“Hܳ?”

“Stans frantz by double fly?” the employee repeated.

Not wanting to sound like an idiot as I was more concerned with remembering the mealĢƵ price than the order, I could only nod.

Of course, the order wasn’t ready, so I’m directed to the drive-thru parking spots in the lot, which is like detention for the drive-thru customer.

Whenever I’m there, it starts feeling like detention as people walking by can’t help but to look at me and probably think, “I wonder what that guy ordered to get himself there? It must have been a lot of stuff. Just look at him!”

Then, after doing time, I felt some relief when I saw an employee coming out of the restaurant with a couple of bags, but the relief soon spoiled as the employee approached my window and said, “Hi there. So, stans frantz by double fly?”

“Uh…yes…stans frantz by double fly is most certainly me.”

Then finally, after returning home, I found they screwed up something on the order.

ItĢƵ then you as the consumer have to make a choice. Eat the mistake and vow never to return to the drive-thru…for at least another week or jump in the car and go thru the adventure again, but only to remind them you needed extra sauce for your stans frantz by double fly.

According to Hofmann is written by staff reporter Mark Hofmann of Rostraver Township. He co-hosts the “Locally Yours” radio show on WMBS 590 AM every Friday. His book, ”Stupid Brain,” is available on Amazon.com.

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