Sometimes I’m in a mood for fast food. Not often, but sometimes. I like Burger King’s Whopper but I rarely buy one. On the few occasions I’ve eaten at my local BK, the food I’ve gotten is never hot. In fact, it’s usually near room temperature, and room temperature burgers and fries are not appealing. I could ask an employee to warm my meal, and I have, and they will do it without complaint. But if I have to warm my food, I may as well order to-go, take it home, and warm it there. And warmed-over French fries are fairly blah. Scratch Burger King.
My local McDonald’s seems to try a little harder; the food I’ve gotten there isn’t hot, but at least it’s usually warm, and warm beats room temperature. I can live with warm, but it won’t send me out of my way for a meal. Scratch McDonald’s.
I was told that Wendy’s has a new menu item that is good: a barbecue sandwich. I like barbecue so I decide to drop in and try it. At 3 PM the place is empty; I’m their only customer. I order the barbecue combo, which comes with fries and a drink. The order-taker asks which sauce I want on the barbecue. I ask what flavors they have and “sweet, spicy, and smoky” is his answer. I don’t care for sweet barbecue sauce so I request spicy. They have to heat up the barbecue meat and the bun, and after a short time he again asks me which sauce I want. This time I say, “Anything but sweet.” He asks me three times while the cook is preparing the meal, and each time I tell him the same thing: “Anything but sweet.”
The sandwich is finally ready, but now they discover they don’t have any French fries so they have to cook up a batch. I wait a bit longer and the meal is finally ready. I pick up my tray and walk over to the drink machine and dial up a diet cola. I stick a straw in the drink cup and go to the condiment counter. I squirt ketchup into a tiny plastic cup and then sit at a table. I dip a French fry into the ketchup and pop it into my mouth. It’s hot and tasty! I unwrap my sandwich and take a bite. The BBQ is excellent; unfortunately, it has sweet sauce on it. That doesn’t surprise me a whole lot. You don’t get rocket scientists for what a sandwich maker is paid. And it’s partly my fault. I had told them, “Anything but sweet.” I should have anticipated that of those three words, the word they would remember would be “sweet.”
I finish my meal – very good, despite the sweet sauce – and stand up, tray in my right hand, drink in my left hand, and walk to the trash bin next to the condiments counter to dump my tray. I put my drink down on the condiments counter because I need my left hand to hold open the flapper door on the trash bin while I dump the tray. Then I place the tray on the top of the trash bin and pick up my drink cup. I want to top it off and put a lid on it so I can take it with me.
I walk to the nearby drink machine, pour more cola into my cup, and set the cup on the shelf in front of the machine. I reach for a lid and I’m about to put the lid on the cup when I realize my straw is missing. Where’s my straw? I look over at the condiments counter and there sits my drink cup, its straw sticking into the air as if to say, “Here I am.”
Wait. What just happened? If that is my drink, whose drink is this? Didn’t I just walk over here with this drink? I am still the only customer. This mystery drink was not at the drink machine when I got my drink, yet no one entered the restaurant while I was eating. Nor did I see, at any time, a second drink cup on the condiments counter. Where did this drink come from?
I have a moment of “this does not compute,” but I know what has happened. I just experienced a reality shift. I put down the straw-less drink, grab my drink, and quickly exit the restaurant. I know I am in a wobbly-reality zone and I want to get away from it before reality shifts again. Another reality shift might do something bad, like turn my car into … oh, I don’t know … a twenty year old Jeep.
I’m not fast enough. I reach my car, and guess what – now it is a twenty year old Jeep. That’s how reality works, sometimes. I could tell you a lot about reality, but you wouldn’t believe me because … reality is just that strange.
I bet I never get my Lamborghini back.
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