The Drive-Thru Diaries (of My Slow Descent into Madness
“The Drive-Thru Diaries (of My Slow Descent into Madness)”
There’s a special place in life that tests the very limits of human patience. No, it’s not jury duty. Not a trip to IKEA on a Saturday. And not even waiting for your phone to update when you’re already late. No, friends—it’s the battlefield of modern society: the fast food drive-thru line.
Now, I want to believe most people enter a drive-thru with good intentions and a vague grasp of time and space. But every time I join that line, I’m reminded that some folks think a drive-thru is a suggestion—not a system.
Let’s start with the broken window people. You know them. Their driver’s side window hasn’t worked since the Bush administration, yet here they are—pulling up two feet away from the speaker, flinging their car door open like they’re about to dive into a mosh pit. They lean out, shouting their order into the wind while half the car’s interior spills out. It’s 2025. You’ve got facial recognition on your phone, but your window’s still stuck? Priorities, my friend.
Then come the menu philosophers. These are the folks who treat the drive-thru menu like it’s their first trip to Paris. They tilt their heads, furrow their brows, and study that digital board like they’re preparing for a food-themed final exam. Listen—it’s a fast food menu, not the Dead Sea Scrolls. If you need to “think about it,” pull over and reflect on your life elsewhere.
And don’t get me started on the Party Planners. One car. Five voices. Fifteen modifications. They’re ordering enough food to feed a high school football team, but here they are—holding up the line while trying to remember if Kyle wanted no pickles or no onions. Honestly, if your order includes the words “separate bags,” the lobby is right there. Use it.
Then we have the Line Daydreamers. These are the people who stop paying attention as the line moves, usually because they’re scrolling TikTok or staring off like they just saw a vision of Elvis. Meanwhile, the rest of us are stuck behind them, blinking in Morse code trying to send psychic waves like “MOVE. UP.”
And finally—The Unprepared. These are the ones who get to the window and act like paying is some brand new concept. They rummage through their car like they’ve never seen a debit card before. At one point they’re checking under the seat, in the glove box, maybe the trunk. I swear one lady looked in her shoe. It’s not a scavenger hunt. It’s $7.39 for your chicken nuggets.
Look—I’m not judging the occasional chaos. We’ve all had off days. Once I tried to order a Frosty at Taco Bell and didn’t even notice I was in the wrong line until I was halfway through demanding sprinkles. But there’s a difference between a moment of confusion and being a repeat offender in the Drive-Thru Hall of Shame.
So here’s to the efficient ones—the drive-thru heroes who know their order, have their payment ready, and glide through the process like caffeinated ballerinas. You are the MVPs. The unsung legends.
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To the rest of you… bless your hearts. And maybe your window motors.
—Dr. Nick
(Just trying to get a Pibb without watching civilization collapse in slow motion)
