Drive-Thru Disaster

Each and every single time I actually convince myself: This is the last time I take my kids through the drive-thru. Each and every single time, I lie.

There is a small family-owned hotdog stand right on the corner of my block. They make all their food fresh to order and, for the convenience of the mother with two small kids, they also have a drive-up window. The other day cooking dinner just did not seem like an option I wanted to consider, so I enthustically asked the kids, "Who wants chicken rings and french fries???" After the shouts of "MEEEEEEEEEEEE" subsided long enough for the microphone to hear our order, the girl on the other end told us to drive on up!

It was a nice enough day and knowing we would have to wait about five minutes at the window, I kept the window rolled down at a comfortable level. I paid the woman, using my bank debit card (another reason this place is the preferred choice), and waited patiently--after all I'd rather wait five minutes for a fully cooked meal, than the 60 minutes it would take for me to make it at home--not including the clean up. So the voice screamed and won: DRIVE-THRU!!!!

As we were waiting, the woman disappeared to deep fry my fatty food, my son spoke up softly from the back seat, "Mom, what's her name?" I replied, "I don't know honey." "Well, Mom you have to ask her her name." And for some reason, this day, this time, I did not want to ask her her name. And for some reason, this day, this time, I could not ask her her name. It was as if my mouth was stapled shut, wrapped in plastic, stamped, and already placed on the truck for delivery. Going to the drive-thru was not the only voice that won that day.

As we sat in silence, waiting to get our fried feast, I talked myself out of all the reasons why asking her name was so simple--so simple, in fact, that disobedience would haunt me longer than a simple act which would slip away like words against the backspace. I talked myself out of all the reasons that people are really good deep down and care about others. I talked myself out of all the reasons why it was important to be a good example in front of my kids. I talked myself out of humility and into pride. I talked myself out of courage and into fear.

I grabbed my bag of food, humbled a meager "Thanks," quickly rolled up the window and drove away. My glance in the rear-view mirror reflected the face of a little boy who somehow understood he had just lost a part of something he would never be able to replace. Innocence.