You see them.

Six people crammed into Hell on Wheels. Six hungry people making the drive-thru go six people slower.

You curse under your breath as they pull into Arby’s in front of you. You immediately hate them.

I mean really, who eats fast food?

Your stomach rumbles impatiently as you inch into line, shaking your head.

Today, Arby’s is as uninspiring as ever. They may have the meats, but the paint chipping off the walls says they don’t have the maintenance.

You look past that orange check engine light and focus on the 2-for-$7 special. Who knew artificial coloring could look so genuine?

Your car inches forward.

Ahead of you, a stick-figure family lives on the bumper of the van. They look malnourished & unnaturally happy, with smiles stretching off their faces. You hate them and mash your teeth because what fuckin idiot buys a bumper sticker?

Suddenly, a horn shatters the silence. Your eyes cut to the rearview mirror. There’s a mustached man pointing at your bumper with a grin that could rival a Cheshire cat. He shoves his two big thumbs up in the air before honking again. You nod and give him two thumbs right back. Clearly, he’s extra into your “honk if your horny” bumper sticker.

Your car inches forward, and you take in the surroundings. The sky is gray, and the weather is cold. It must be mad at that damn van too. Because seriously, who in their right mind goes to a drive-thru at 5:30 PM?

Minutes pass and the van crawls its way to the order window. Your skin feels on fire. Ahead of you, a chorus of umm’s and errs rings out from the van and drowns out your radio.

Each second they order is a lifetime with death not in sight. Your fingers strangle the steering wheel, daring it to breathe. “How in the hell do you not know what you want to order?” You complain and shake your head, hoping the van will disappear.

It doesn’t.

After a grueling 15 seconds, it’s your turn to order.

Stage fright.

The menu looks as if it’s in Chinese.

“Uhhh….uhhhh…”

You point to the photos.

“Umm… umm… I’ll have that!”

“What, sir?”

“The sandwich.”

“Sir, believe it or not, we have a lot of sandwiches here.”

“No, the one I’m pointing at.”

“Sir, I literally cannot see you.”

“Oh… a number 3.”

“That’ll be $12.78”

You smile and inch forward around the bend, optimism restored, when there it is again — that damn van. They’re still here? Look at the bastard paying for their food. Even time waits for them.

You watch their window go down, and a well-manicured hand extend a credit card.

“And they don’t even pay with cash!”

The van moves forward, and you drop your credit card.

Fuck.

After you pay, your eyes fixate on that van. You’re disgusted with humanity.

There’s a pause. The van isn’t moving. What the hell is going on? You adjust your seat for a better view. You want to look at the sonofabitch who made the mistake of inconveniencing you. You don’t want to say anything; you just want to see them so they’ll know your pain.

Another minute. Another bead of sweat.

Fuck.

These poor people. These poor fuckin’ Arby’s people moving heaven and earth for this fuckin order. What the hell happened to humanity?

Right now, the clouds are a little darker, the wind whips a little sharper, and the boy that’s inside you is disappointed once more. When all of a sudden — hope.

The drive-thru window slides open.

You’re drooling, grinding your teeth, because you can’t wait to see this order. Sorry, this abomination.

There order must be sky high, and there’s at least 2 maybe 3 dead cooks. Their cause? Overwork.

Who in the hell is this bitch to hold up a line?

A hand reaches out the window and grabs a single curly fry. One of the fries drop.

The van pulls away.

Your jaw drops. Your mind melts.

Silently, you pull forward.

“Hello sir, good news, we’re issuing you a refund. The lady in front of you paid for your meal.”

You blink.

“Isn’t humanity great?!”

 

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