That's an order

Have you ever been driving late at night, passing through a tiny hardly tony town, when it dawns on you that your dinner prospects are exceedingly scarce? Good. Me too. Then you most likely do what anyone would under the circumstances – you enter the freewheeling world of fast food. And probably do it through the drive-thru lane to maintain road trip efficiency. Thus optimizing time and energy, while still minimizing the amount of fluorescent light you’re subjected to.

What’s great about a drive-thru is how decisions are foisted upon you. There’s no asking for samples or making sure the milkshake isn’t corked – you order, pay, and exit. 

Fast food gives the impression that there are many choices, with combination platters and myriad deals to entice each idling diner. But you know as well as I do, that there are only a couple things on any given menu that you can safely order.

You might quibble with the inefficiency of the clunky human exchange, given how ascendant apps are now. But here you have a real connection, probably with a visor-wearing adolescent, whose voice cracks through the conversation, recalling a time when your pipes hadn’t yet descended to Barry White level depths. They would, and with them, your career as a melodious radio DJ would predictably rise. 

 

It won’t be the best meal of your life. But you will have had dinner. You will be sated. You will be full. You will be happy.

While waiting to go bland, you consider ordering lobster. You hadn’t noticed in on the menu at first. But it looks alarmingly red on the poster, conjuring up mouthwatering images of that crustacean sensation singing and snapping in The Little Mermaid. There’s no way whatever you were thinking about getting has as much upside. The burgers, the fries, the chicken sandwiches. This is lobster at a rest stop. Why not go for it? Right? You always pictured yourself in Maine, waiting in waders, scrubbing krill and smoking from a pipe. 

Then you remembered. 

You remembered ordering it four years ago while on an eerily similar journey. It looked good at first – otherwise you wouldn’t have ordered it. You ignored the smell, blaming it on nearby refineries. You were wrong, of course. With each bite you thought about how far you were from the ocean. How you missed the salt air. How you hoped you weren't too far from a motel bathroom.

You thought because the creature is found at fancy restaurants, it implies class and luxury. But who are you kidding? It's an overgrown, overpriced insect.

So you got violently ill. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone loses their way and orders lobster at a rest stop. Once. 

But never twice.