Aug. 11, 2005 – Originally published by CNC, Inc. – Dateline: Deirdre's Car

Hewwom, cablob bla da-da? Wom womma de greddomfop?

With all the current information on carbs, fat, and over-eating, you would think that fast food places like Burger King and McDonald’s (or as I think of them, Home #2 and Home #3) would be hollow, echoing, empty shells, with employees walking around dispiritedly wiping down clean counters, and saying “Can I take your order?” wistfully into headset microphones.

But no! Fast food joints are thriving, thanks in large part to my family’s continued (some might say frenzied) patronage. I never actually go in to get fast food; I like to zoom up to the drive-thru ordering box using the drive-thru lane, usually on an empty gas tank with hungry, grumpy kids in tow.And I’m always frustrated, because I know I should be somewhere else – like the grocery store, for instance. I pull up to the ordering box, and I never seem to pull up close enough to it, as I strain my whole upper body painfully in a yoga-like pose (the pose would be called “Carbs in the Sunlight” or something like that) out my window trying to get closer. And usually, I don’t have a hope in this world of understanding what the order-taker is saying, because the audio is so bad on these things. It goes something like this:

Order taker, cheerfully:“Hewwom, cablob be blob bla da-da?”

Me: (Assuming he just said hello, can I take your order, the last time in this whole exchange that I can assume anything) “Um, yeah, uh, just a minute here. Yeah, now, can I get a Number 3 biggie-sized with a coke, and a fruitie-tootie no whipped cream, a Carb-lite Southwestern Salad with free-range dressing, and a… oh, hold on a minute… help him out back there, his head is stuck… um, yeah, that tootie-fruitie, and a Happy Meal with a toy for a boy, and no catsup on the burger with that…and, um, two chocolate milkshakes…” At which point my five-year-old starts screaming hysterically, “You know I don’t like milkshakes!I would like a large coke with ice cubes! And see if they have the Batman toy!And is this the one with the playground? I made a pumpkin in art today with sparkles and glue! I need to go pottie right now!”

Order taker: “Wom womma de greddomfop?” I turn, panicked, to my fifteen-year-old, who says calmly, “He wants to know how many milkshakes, I think.” (He’s fluent in drive-thru.) He puts his earphones back on while I shout in the direction of the box, “Forget the shakes, we’ll all have cokes, so that makes three cokes and all the rest of that food I mentioned before.” Exhausted, voice hoarse, I pull myself back into the car to wait for my total. Soon it is read back to me, and it goes something like this, if it were to be translated by a linguist: “Okay, we gotta number 3, 4 sprites, a tootie-fruitie, two shakes, and a pumpkin. Will that be all?”

Me: “No, no, I’m sorry, a number 3 biggie-sized…” I begin again, at which point my teenager says, “Oh, I don’t eat number 3’s anymore. I’m a number 7 with a Sprite now, Mom. Get with it.” I turn back to the ordering box: “If you can hear me, please change that to a number 7, if you can’t, we’ll see you in a minute. Have a good day!” (Like I’m not going to see him in 3 seconds.)

Next, we roll up to the window (it’s so nice to see real workers at this point, and they always seem really interested in seeing me!) and I start to scrounge in my purse for dollars that I thought were floating around in there. “Look around, kids,” I say desperately, feeling the pressure, “Any spare change? Any extra lunch money? Check under your seats. I might have to just take off, so make sure your belts are buckled…” I smile at the fast food worker. “I’m just having some trouble locating my money, for a minute. I’ll be right with you.” Finally, the money is found, and two huge bags of food are passed over to me. At this point, the heady aroma of French fries and the comforting bulk of reams of paper napkins always fills our souls, and I look to the worker gratefully. “See you next time — have a great night, and week-end, and any municipal holidays that come around! Love you guys!” And we take off, a part of the modern American landscape. Biggie-sized.