You know how when you drink a bit too much one night, and the next day you feel a teensy bit “yucky” (some people would call this a “hangover”), and you know that the only thing that’s going to make it go away is a nice greasy lunch, such as a cheeseburger and fries?
Yeah, me neither.
Well. Yesterday, I myself was feeling a teensy bit “yucky.” I cleverly came up with a “reason” to go to Target (gotta buy a birthday present for that party that the son was invited to), knowing full well that, given the late-morning timing, I would be driving right by any number of fast food options on my way to Mecca Target.
And drive I did, right into the Roy Rogers drive thru lane. Because nothing says “hangover helper” like a roast beef sandwich on a golden toasted roll, with fries and a Diet Coke. (Also, it was the first fast food restaurant I saw.) I pulled up to the speaker and began to place my order:
ME: Yes, I’d like the regular roast beef sandwich…
HER: we’re serving BREAKFAST now, ma’am.
ME: Really? When does lunch start?
ME: What time is it now?
HER: Ten fifty-six.
ME: Well then, can I Just sit here for four minutes until lunch starts?
HER: Well, I don’t think so, because people behind you might want to get through the line.
ME: [exasperated sigh] FINE. I’ll go to McDonalds.
That’ll show ‘em.
Me being me, of course I knew that McDonalds was nearby. I spent a good three minutes getting there, because apparently being out and about at approximately 11:00 a.m. on a beautiful Saturday morning was the least original idea in my particular part of suburbia.
As I approached the McDonalds drive-thru, I recalled a recent attempt to order breakfast at a McDonalds in upstate New York, only to be told that it was 10:35 a.m. and ma’am? We stopped serving breakfast at 10:30. Or, that Adam Sandler movie, Big Daddy? Same problem – McDonalds stops serving breakfast at 10:30, but Big Daddy is sure he has until 11:00 to score an Egg McMuffin for his little boy, thus preventing a tantrum, and is it just me, or should McDonalds just pick a time and stick to it? Because the thing about McDonalds is, it’s always the same. This issue of the inconsistent lunch time messes with the same-ness.
ME: Hi, I’d like a number 2 (that’s the Quarter Pounder Extra Value Meal, as if you didn’t know) with Diet Coke please.
HIM: That will be Two Seventy-Nine.
ME (seeing the breakfast sandwich combo flash on the screen): NO, NO, I want the LUNCH Number 2, not BREAKFAST!
HIM: Sorry ma’am, we are still serving breakfast.
ME: Well what time is it???
HIM: Ten fifty-seven.
(Now it has become painfully clear that there is a conspiracy afoot. The planets have aligned against me. And also, these fast food people should synchronize their clocks, because it took way more than one minute to get from Roy’s to McDonald’s. Which I know because when you’re on a mission to find your hangover helper lunch, every minute counts.)
ME: aaaargh, I want LUNCH! (Yes, I actually did say “aaargh”)
HIM: Ma’am, just pull up to the first window and they will fix it for you.
So now I’m doing the mental calculus of, if they are dishing out the last few, cold Egg McMuffins and flaccid pancakes, and they haven’t yet begun cooking cheeseburgers and frying fries, I could potentially sit there for what will seem an eternity while they change over to lunch. When I reached the window, I kept right on driving, following the cue of the TWO CARS in front of me, who did the same thing, and ignoring the man and the cash register who was yelling, “Ma’am! Ma’am?”
At this point, it had become a MISSION. I was hung over, dammit. I needed a freakin’ cheeseburger and fries. What’s a girl gotta do to get a damn cheeseburger in the bosom of Suburbia at 11:00 a.m.? I wondered. Because isn’t that one of the advantages of living in the suburbs in the first place? To be able to get a cheeseburger whenever you want one?
After my Crabby McCrabbypants outbursts at both drive-thru windows, I could not go back through either one. And, I much was too battle-weary to attempt the same order at the adjacent Wendy’s. If they had denied my order, I probably would have cried. So I went to Target, bought the birthday present (and, you know, all the other critical items that jump into my basket every time I set foot in that place), then approached the food counter. And I am happy to report that the Very Nice Man did NOT tell me I couldn’t have what I wanted. I ordered – and received – a Pizza Hut Personal Pan Pizza. Pepperoni. With Diet Coke. And I ate it. And, while it wasn’t a cheeseburger and fries, I immediately felt much less “yucky.”
Filed under: fast food, Hangover, rant, suburbs Tagged: | breakfast, cheeseburger, crabby, Diet Coke, drive-thru, Hangover, lunch, McDonalds, Personal Pan Pizza, Pizza Hut, Roy Rogers, suburbs, Target