It's time to short observations of recent events together thematically! All we need is a bridging device... cars! They'll do. They'll do nicely.
So, sloth and gluttony drove me to fast food on Wednesday night, and as usual on such an unusual occasion, my destination was Jack in the Box. I always get a #4 combo (Spicy Chicken Sandwich) and I usually do the drive thru, especially when I'm just buying for me, rather than Malaya as well. I didn't hit the lights on the way, and got there right after someone else reached the drive thru. And that's where the trouble began.
Like most drive thrus these days, this particular Jack's had a big lit menu on the right side, a couple of car lengths ahead of the big lit menu with the speaker box, on the left. (I suppose those are backwards in countries where they drive on the other side of the road. Assuming people eat the same type of shit while sitting in the cars to order it in those countries.) The car ahead of me, a white Civic, was sitting next to the one on the right, with no one in front of it. There wasn't room to scoot past that car and get to the order menu on the left, and I wouldn't have done that anyway, but I was soon tempted, when 30 seconds passed and the civic remained motionless. I could see a woman's head inside, as she leaned way over to the right and looked out her passenger window at the menu, and she didn't look like she was asleep, so I didn't honk or plan to get out and ask her "WTF?" since you gets shot doing this like that in my country.
I should stress that no one was in front of her, like no one in the entire drivethru, so it wasn't as if she'd been reading the menu and just hadn't noticed the car before her move up a minute earlier.
Finally, her brake lights flashed and the Civic jerked to the left, lurching twice before stopping just as it banged into one of the metal posts that guarded the ordering menu. She was pointing right at the menu, with no way to turn back to the right and get into the drivethru lane. And as I giggled and the prerequisite accented voice said, "Can I take your order?" the Civic's lights went out, and then came back on as the driver put it neutral and slowly rolled back about a foot. The car then restarted and lurched forward, just missing the post for a second time. The voice comes again, "Can I take your order?" and the Civic stops again, the lights go out as the engine dies again, and it just sits there. Not running, two feet from the order mic, window up.
At this point I knew it was hopeless. I'd stopped a good 15 feet behind the Civic from the start, when I saw it at the wrong menu. Cars turned half sideways at the wrong menu in an empty drive thru is one of the ways nature says "do not touch." Or pull up close behind. By the time she hit the other sign, I was planning to go inside and order, since I was not about to get my car behind hers in a narrow drive thru lane. She'd stall her car out and not be able to restart it, or spend ten minutes trying to pay with Canadian coins, or vomit and pass out in it, etc.
I waited a bit longer to enjoy the show though, and things went as expected. Her engine finally came back on and her window went down, and as the poor clerk asked if he could help her again, I rolled down my window and turned down the CD just to hear her talk. I wish I'd recorded it.
Customer: "Jumbo jack..."
Cashier: "Anything else?"
Customer: "One taco."
Cashier: "You want cheese?"
Customer: "Sprite. Do you have Sprite?"
Cashier: "Um..."
Customer: "The salad. Does it have chicken?"
Cashier: "Which salad?"
Customer: "And Sprite. Cheeseburger too."
I had to quit at that point before I took a marital arts weapon up there and put that woman out of her misery, so I turned left and parked, and walked inside. It took me at least thirty seconds to do so, and when I got into the restaurant the cashier with the headset was still talking to her. I could hear her wandering, spaced out voice mumbling along, asking something about chicken, when the cashier finally gave up and asked her to pull up to the window. He was Indian, about 30, clean-shaven, and probably had an MBA from the U of Bombay and was on track to own his own mini Jack in the Box empire in 10 years.
In the meantime, he was stuck working nights on the drivethru since the other employees were short Mexican women whose accents were even thicker than his. Another guy was waiting to order, and he did so, and when I walked up the cashier was still, understandably, ignoring the woman who had successful navigated her way to the closed drivethru window.
"How stoned is she?" I asked, leaning over the counter a bit to try and see her out the window. I could not, since her car was too much lower than the window.
"She's drunk." he said, intuiting my meaning.
"I was behind her in the drive thru." I said, laughing. "She was over on the right side, then veered left and hit the post in front of the sign. I could hear you asking for her order while her windows were still up."
He laughed and shook his head, and looked over at her car and laughed again. "She asked me if the salad had chicken for the third time and I told her to pull up to the window."
He kept ignoring her, and when he asked me to order I did so, with appropriate brevity. "Number four combo, large, no cheese, to go." There was no need for me to specify a beverage since they had a fill it yourself soda fountain beside the counter, and I'd seen the guy ahead of me get an empty cup to fill as he saw fit. And to my amazement, the cashier got it all. He didn't squint at the register and fumble for buttons, and he didn't input half of it and then ask me if I wanted large or small, or cheese. On second thought, I'll put him on track to own his own division of Jack's in 8 years. Maybe 6.
I assume the woman finally got her food, or something resembling it (not that she'd ever know the difference in her condition), but her car was still there when I went out, and I watched to see if she was going to come reeling out of the drive thru as I exited the restaurant, since half of successful driving is just being able to stay out of the way of drunks/junkies/maniacs.
Speaking of...
One evening last week I was driving up to the North Bay. The road up there is pretty easy, you just take I580 for about 10 miles, go over the toll bridge to Marin, and then continue along 580 for a bit further until you reach San Rafael and a pain in the ass one-lane merge onto 101 where construction has been ongoing for as long as I can remember.
Long before that point, I was zooming along 580 at about 65, going uphill towards the bridge toll booths, in the right lane. I normally drive in the left lane since I'm normally faster than other cars, but in this case I had to get right to use the Fastrack lane (automated toll payment = no waiting for some guy in a white pickup with a tool box in the back to fumble out $4). Plus it was late and there wasn't much traffic, and 580 drops from 65 to 55 there, in a kind of mini-speed trap.
There's a busy onramp just at the base of the hill, and as I went past it I saw a minivan chugging up the slight incline at about 25, while some little Mustang (one of the cheap late-90s plastic versions before they got redesigned and muscly) tailgated so closely I looked over, thinking it must be attached in some home-made towing operation. Nope, it was just some asshole tailgating, which, as every sensible person knows, only makes the slow car in front of you go even slower, as our basic human urge to punish an asshole kicks in.
I didn't spare him much more thought as I zoomed up the hill and through the Fastrak, but once I was about halfway across the long, two-mile bridge, I saw a pair of headlines coming up fast behind, weaving in and out of traffic.
"I bet that's Mr. One Inch in his plastic Mustang." I said to myself, and sure enough, he overtook me a moment late at about 80. The bridge speed limit is 50, but most people go 60 or 65, depending on conditions. I was doing 73ish, but I'm like that and at any rate, the bridge is almost perfectly straight, two lanes, and without any turns or on/off ramps, could be driven safely at about 150. Assuming you weren't weaving around slower cars, the way the plastic Mustang was.
He didn't weave around me, since I was in the right lane, and I watched him go past, then laughed as he had to slam on his brakes a minute later when he met two cars moving the same speed. They'd been side by side for a while; it wasn't like one swerved over or something, so any brakes that had to be applied were just a sign of a shitty driver in the Mustang. Not that we needed further confirmation of that fact.
There was about half a mile of bridge left, and I ended up behind the Mustang since the right lane traffic was slower. I didn't care about that; I don't drive with a small penis and don't need to be the fastest car on the road (as much as I used to *cough*) and if cars want to pass me that's fine; the cars/drivers that annoy me are the slow ones who can't stay the hell out of the way. So I stayed behind the Mustang as he got clear of the slower traffic, and when the cars ahead of him moved right, likely planning on taking the 101 merge exit at the end of the bridge, I expected Mr. Mustang to rocket up to about 90 and either pass everyone, or pass most everyone before swerving right at the last second to make the 101 merge.
He started to do so, accelerating to about 80 on the long downhill at the end of the bridge, and I clicked my cruise control up to about 75, and rolled happily along. Happily until we got up towards the 101 South exit, when the Mustang inexplicably slowed from 80+ to about 60, without anyone in front of him, slower cars moving over to exit on his right, and nothing but a concrete medium to his left. I disengaged my cruise and rolled, assuming he'd start driving again, but he just stayed at 60ish, and I soon had to hit the brakes to avoid running into him. Again, there wasn't a car in front of him for half a mile, and as soon as he was past the 101S exit he stomped it and zoomed up to 80 again. I got in the right lane at that point, since most of the other cars had exited, and only noticed the Mustang again when he started weaving from left to right lane, tapping his brakes randomly, and slowing down. Ordinarily I would have blown past him, since my car was both newer and faster than his, but he looked crazy, so I just rolled along, and before long, as we approached the 101N/580N merge where it goes to one lane and construction, he was doing about 30. In a 55 zone.
So he was inconveniencing me, and he was crazy, but at the same time his car was just fast enough that I couldn't blow past him with blissful impunity, since I couldn't rule out the possiblity that he might be crazy enough to try and hit me. Plus, with the one-lane construction area coming up, I was sure to have to slow down behind some SUV merging in from 101. I was considering taking the last exit, if he went straight onto 101, since it's just a surface street that goes parallel to the freeway and woudln't have taken me far out of my way. Happily the Mustang went that way, and as I accelerated back to speed on the freeway, I could see him over to the right, flicking me off through his window.
I laughed heartily, in an, "Of course!
I'm the one who should fuck off in this situation!" sort of way, while wishing Malaya had been with me. A middle finger an effective insult to junior high students and adults with a mentality on that level, but nothing cuts to a man's core like a hot chick holding up the extended pinkie finger with her thumb about an inch from the tip of it. And Malaya would have been happy to oblige him that favor.
In one last (vaguely) car-related item, check out
this YouTube fun. I don't play WoW and can't imagine I'll ever have the time/inclination to do so, but I am at least perhipherally aware of the Murloc phenomena. They're frogmen who are more annoying than dangerous, with really cute and amusing voices. It's the voices that are making them pop culture stars, and that's what makes this video so funny. It's a guy singing, "If I had a Murloc" to the tune of, "If I were a Rich Man," and while the one guy sings his musical song, someone else operates a ridiculous little Kermit the Frog-esque Murloc pet, complete with a little spear and hilarious "Rabble grabble grabble rabble rab!" lyrics, that are someone in tune and in time with the rest of the song.
The various sketches and antics are cute, in a very amateurish way, and I laugh at the Murloc's dialogue (which is not from the game; one of the guys just does it live as the camera is rolling, I think), but it's the very brief car section at 1:44 that puts the video over the top. When the Murloc starts to bounce... to angry, N-word heavy Dr. Dre... in the whitest white guy's safe, sensible, silver import sedan.
Although the spear into the electrical outlet is a nice touch too.
Labels: driving, fast food, gaming
