Drive-Thru

"Hi, can I help you?" I hear through the black box next to the large multicolored sign displaying huge pictures of high calorie and high fat breakfast offerings. The question comes from a woman wearing a headset microphone, her voice crackling through the bird spackled speaker. Gross. Don't these places clean these things when they are under a tree? ...and I'm ordering food...

Do I need help? I hesitate for a moment, perhaps noticeably longer, as I think about my continued feelings of hurt and loss. I can see the person with the headset rushing about filling a drink and scurrying together an order for the customer before me. She does not notice my hesitation and perhaps even welcomes the slight break in the constant barrage of the morning rush hour.

I snap out of it remembering my vow to try to avoid being emotional and heavy and choose a particularly fattening and delicious croissant loaded with egg, cheese and sausage. I want the happy taste in my mouth and against my tongue and the warm feeling in my stomach. I seem not to care that I probably just ordered something that will reach my entire day’s caloric limit and certainly point me in the direction of carrots and celery sticks for lunch. I hate the low fat ranch dressing I get at the cafeteria; the little tub of white yuckiness pre-wrapped under plastic sitting in the middle of a few cut veggies, sigh.

"And it’s only the seventh day into the New Year," I complain as I expertly push back this additional sense of failure. I’ve become quite skilled at sweeping these things under the rug. I tell myself that I will deal with this and its dusty comrades at some future time. “Go away now and wait your turn,” I command and the slight pang of guilt rapidly dissipates.

I pull up to the window. "How are you today?" I hear directly from the young woman with the headset as she looks down to take my money without a smile. I answer automatically, "Fine thank you. How are you?" She does not answer nor do I expect her to. "How am I today?" I think; another pointless question from her; or instead, have they both been quite meaningful?

How beautiful would our interactions be if we were to become truly caring human beings? If we just slowed everything down, way way down, and began to share love and genuine concern for each other. Wouldn’t our lives be truly different? Sadly I realize that I would need at least an hour to talk, to share and to discover how this other human being might possibly help me and how I might possibly help her and really only then would we have just begun. Taking the time to truly ask the meaningful questions and give kind and concerning discussion towards each other would be very nice indeed. In my opinion, it would be completely wonderful.

Alas, this is a silly fast food restaurant. The kind of help I need goes much deeper than a breakfast sandwich and a diet coke ordered through a box and passed through windows in a brown paper bag. More frightened than sad, I realize it is me who needs to face all those dusty feelings of failure which stand waiting patiently and which will wait forever in my soul until they are each faced and put to rest one after the other. How long can I fake happiness and continue to keep sweeping them under the rug? Not too much longer.

I eat the breakfast croissant in my car tasting the warm flavors and feeling just OK for a moment as I run late for class…