Fresh blog posts while you wait

Some men are inspired by nature. Some are inspired by women. A few--OK, one--is inspired by fast food establishments. And that man is me.

How else can one explain blog entries about a certain unappreciated dollar tip at Sonic, not picking up a girl at Hardees, and the KFC high talker? Perhaps it's because eating out and going to the grocery store comprise about ninety percent of my interaction with the outside world. Or maybe it's because... well, actually, it's probably that ninety percent thing.

Speaking of the high talker, I got him again last week. No sooner had I ordered my delicious lemon parfait than I started thinking that lilting, high-pitched voice sounded familiar. Sure enough, it was him. So that's three trips, and I've called him ma'am every time. If I ever become famous, I'm hiring him as my personal assistant. It's the only way to ever assuage my guilt.

Yesterday I found myself inspired again, this time by Subway. Normally at the drive thru, they take your order, get your money, give your change, then go and make your sandwich. After a couple of minutes, they return with your sandwich, and I usually try to say something cool like, "Jared! Holla!" as I pull away.

Well, the drive thru attendant yesterday seemed like she was newish. She took my order but didn't take my money, just went to make my sandwich. While she was gone, I started thinking about what if she never asks for my money.

That led to me composing an entire blog post in my head about how this must be one way Obama is trying to stimulate the economy and help people out. It's called Pay-Is-Optional Fast Food. If you want to pay, you can. But if you don't feel like you can afford it, just take your sandwich and the government will subsidize Subway later.

It all seemed hilarious as I was sitting there waiting on my six inch Subway club on wheat. (Now? Not so much.) I smiled at my own genius, already picturing the Jared "Yes We Can" ad campaign, and was excited about coming home and blogging it. Then the girl came back to the window, took my money and gave me my sandwich, basically ruining my entire story... and possibly our nation's economic future.

I come up with all these brilliant ideas. But when I try and put them into action, these fast food attendants don't seem to want to cooperate. It can be quite vexing, as you might imagine.

So I guess the bottom line is nothing really happened at Subway yesterday. Unless you count what went on inside my head.

"Life moved and I stopped to taste it. I drank it up 'til it left me wasted. But my rains have bled a softer red. Oh, you should see the world inside my head..."

Letting out my inner Costanza

After reading J-Mo's post about one of the great sociological questions of our time, I decided to go to Sonic for lunch today.

So I'm sitting there and of course I have no idea how much to tip or even if I should tip at all. Because the place is like a gigantic roundabout anyway. Who knows what to do. You pretty much just hope to get out of there without running into anything.

Anyway, my order comes to $5.39. I briefly consider giving her $6 and telling her to keep the change, but that never seems like enough to me. I feel like the carhop is standing there thinking, "Gee thanks. This will pay for my little brother's operation to fix his lazy eye."

Next, I consider giving her a $10 bill. Then as she's giving me the change I can make it a point to return one of the dollars to her. This seems like a pretty good idea, except who wants to break a ten. Those big bills just disappear once you break them.

So then I dig around in the coin repository that is the console of my car and find thirty-nine cents. I don't have a five, so I decide that I'll give her six one dollar bills and thirty-nine cents in change. That way, she'll be getting a full dollar tip. That should help her brother out.

Well, she comes, I pay, she leaves. Story of my life. But she doesn't count my ones. She just takes the money and walks away. So then I'm thinking that she's thinking I gave her exact change and has no idea I even tipped her. I mean, she said thank you. But it was just a regular thank you, not an oh-thank-you-so-much-kind-sir-for-my-tip-is-there-anything-else-I-can-do-for-you-today thank you. So basically, I got NO CREDIT for my tip.

Oh sure, when she gets back inside and starts going thru her money, she'll find a nice little Washingtonian surprise. But what good does that do me? Isn't the whole point of tipping at Sonic so I don't get dirty looks or feel guilty?

Oh, it's not?

Oh... Well, nevermind then. Forget I said anything.

"If you wanna go and take a ride with me, we three wheelin' in the fo' with the gold D's. Oh why do I live this way? Hey! Must be the money..."