That great American convenience, the drive-thru, is one place you'll not see much of me. Whether it be bank, restaurant, pharmacy, or even beer distributor, the drive-thru has always made me twitchy.
The reason is about as simple as it gets; way too often, they don't work, they don't do what they're supposed to do, they save you no time at all.
Who among us hasn't had the feeling that you caught the burger joint crew by great surprise when you pulled up and had the temerity to order food? I knew the drive-thru had abundant weaknesses that first time I was asked to pull ahead and someone would bring my order to me.
"Huh? Why don't I just park here and come in and help you make it?" says me to the young lady hurrying to slide the window shut before I could warm up and get my brilliant sarcasm firing like a Lamborghini piston.
And so it has been that I avoided the drive-thru as a matter of routine for more years than I feel like counting.
I've come back. All is forgiven.
Enter the dollar double-cheeseburger.
Whatever name or guise it takes, it's a buck for a burger, and a mighty good little burger at that.
It's an amazing piece of American marketing.
It works. It works too well. I've bought into it.
While standing at a counter to spend a buck and six might make one look a champion tightwad, the anonymity of my truck offers enough protection from the accusation.
Therein the dilemma faced several times a week, those times when hunger falls on you from nowhere, leaving you empty, hollow, with a maddening pang for something carby, unhealthy, fast, and nearby. Oh, it need be a bit greasy, too. And now, sweet matriarch of all that nourishes and fattens, it's cheap!
You know the chains, the franchises. No need here for me to name names. Just about all of the big corporate joints have something right around a buck now. The temptation is frightening.
Not to be outdone, one non-burger place can offer you five sandwiches for about six bucks. A sack of sandwiches with condiments, paper napkins, all awaiting an arm's length away, right there at that little window, the one that might as well be a tollbooth along the Tubby Turnpike.
Negligibly priced and good, satisfying, filling the comfort-food hole in your soul, this is truly a good deal. We all know that there are moments, and yes they do pass, that the hole needs to filled, the monster demands to be fed.
Well, by God, there I was, sitting no more than seventy feet from the far too conveniently located drive-thru one day last week, eyeballing the signs in the window telling what taste of our cultural gastronomy is now available for one dollar and six cents. A pair of discreet binoculars, maybe opera-glasses, might have been helpful. That way I'd not miss an item before succumbing to this devilish temptation.
Please know that there are those times I do not cave, I embrace denial successfully and drive off hungry. Who's keeping score?
I'm not a cheap man, not one to pinch pennies, to nickel and dime any situation. If anything, the opposite be true. Spendthrift is a good word, it fits me well at times.
It's not about the money, but the money plays an evil role in it all. Those ugly twins of greed and avarice are at work. Satiation for a buck, a belly fuller still for two bucks. This is temptation not easily ignored.
If that double baby was regular price, pffffffttt, no thanks. At a buck, irresistible, fetching, and appealing aren't strong enough words.
The bigger mountain to climb is that those offering dollar menus seem committed to their continuance.
I'm in trouble...and I doubt alone.
