Some years ago, we had a foreign exchange student from Belgium stay with us. Caroline came to visit us for a month after my daughter, then 14, stayed with her family in Belgium for part of the summer.
It was quite the culture shock for Caroline. She had never been to a real American city, only a compound (a resort for foreign tourists that is walled off) in Florida. I can only imagine what was going on through her head, flying halfway across the globe only to land in Port Orchard, Washington.
I did get to see glimpses of her wonder about our world. For example in Belgium, they don’t have anything close to a Costco. Instead, the family (or in her case, the housekeeper), goes shopping every day – first to the butcher, then the baker, then the produce stall – they don’t have chest freezers or large refrigerators.
So imagine the look on her eyes when we went to Costco one day for some food. I’m sure our Costco had as much product warehoused there as her entire village had. As soon as she walked through the doors, her eyes lifted to the ceiling, looking at all the food stacked to the rafters. It must have been overwhelming for her teenaged eyes to take in.
But the best was yet to come. The next day we had errands to run. We headed off in the car – first the bank, then the pharmacy and finally, some lunch. We never got out of the car, choosing to use the drive thrus instead.
This mystified her even more, because this isn’t part of Belgium’s culture. You’re supposed to go into these places and talk to real people, not a disembodied speaker mounted out on a post outside.
For us, it was quite normal. It’s just a very American thing to do.
However, I have to agree with Caroline on one point – using a drive thru at a restaurant.
This is not something to my liking. On a recent trip to Seattle, I was reminded of this very fact.
In Florida, we lack two very important things: Taco Time and Jack in the Box. Checkers comes kind of close to Jack in the Box I will admit, but it requires going through the drive thru since it has no inside dining. The only way to score a Big Buford is to brave the drive thru.
There is no Taco Time equivalent here. Don’t try to say, “but we have Taco Bell.” The only thing the two share is Taco in the name. So let’s just not go there.
It was in Seattle that I opted to go through the drive thru at Jack in the Box. It was fine, largely because I rarely vary from my choice – an Ultimate Cheeseburger. As such, I don’t have to endure the stress of trying to figure out what I’ll have while other cars stack in behind me, waiting for me to get my act together and place a simple order.
I tend to freeze up at these moments. The outdoor menus are simply too much for my mind to wrap around – it’s a cavalcade of colors and pretty pictures of food. Even if I know what I want, I am distracted by the visual stimuli to the point where I can’t even find where the damned fries and onion rings are on the menu, as I am enraptured by the photo of the extra large shake that is on special.
I would never go through the drive thru at Taco Time. There’s too much to consider on their menu that are favorites of mine. So I like to go inside and look at the larger menu above the counter and take my sweet time.
This is actually my preference in most cases. If there is one thing I hate more than anything, it’s going through the drive thru if there is anyone else in the car. It can be a spouse, a girlfriend, my son – no matter. The stress level shoots right off the scale as I will be the one that has the responsibility to order everyone else’s food and get the order correct.
I rarely do. What should be a clear, easy to follow order gets jumbled up inside my head. I hear it correctly, I repeat it back to my fellow travelers correctly, but then it spins around in my head and comes back out as nonsense to the person taking the order.
It wouldn’t be so bad if my car mates would order a number. The invention of the numbered meal is a godsend to me, as I can simply go “A number 1, a number 3, a number 4. Supersize number 4. Two Cokes, one Sprite.” Easy stuff. But usually, someone I’m with wants to go off the grid. They want to special order something, such as a “number 3 with no cheese, extra mustard and four pickle slices.”
And I am supposed to remember this? By now, their order is in my head and I have totally forgotten what I wanted. I am in Order Purgatory. I realize that I should have simply parked the car and went inside to order, but I hadn’t been apprised by my travel mates that they were particularly particular about mass produced, mass consumed fast food that is made the same way for everyone. This isn’t a real restaurant. It’s a food factory. I can only wonder what these people are like at a real restaurant.
That’s not to say I don’t have my preferences. I don’t like pickles, for instance. But I won’t order a custom burger without pickles. I will simply fish them out of the burger once it arrives. I get the fact that it’s fast food.
What I don’t seem to get is that I am not drive thru material. At least when there are others in the car. I still knuckle under to pressure and will use the drive thru, even though I loathe it.
I am also not a drive in type. I remember many years ago pulling into Burgermaster in Kirkland. I was with my girlfriend at the time and our two moppets. We ordered our meal. Within two minutes the two kids wanted to know where their food was. My girlfriend explained that they had to make it. These two McDonald’s junkies didn’t understand that concept and began to whine incessantly that they wanted their food and they wanted it now!
We never went back to the drive in. And today, I think my drive thru days are on the wane as well.
Out on the Treasure Coast, no drive thrus to be found within miles of my abode,
– Robb