(Almost) In-and-(promptly back) out

Every day, on my way home from work, I get smacked in the face by the smell of this:

Hello California, thanks for the calories.

Uhhhh. But don't panic! I have developed several coping mechanisms, including:

- moving to the left lane so I can't turn into that place
- only buying a burger if I can buy it with cash
- and never buying fries
- eating a little snack before I leave school so I'm not so hungry on the drive home
- keeping the windows rolled up tight and trying not to inhale when I pass it
- although that never works, because the smell is very insistent
- reminding myself that I have a friend who works there, and it will be embarrassing if I go too often.

Usually, at least one of these coping mechanisms works and I make it home and it's fine. But sometimes, I'm driving home, and I forget to get in the left lane, and I smell that smell, and someone takes my steering wheel and forces me to turn in to that parking lot. And sometimes I really deserve it, and a hamburger is, after all, a good source of protein, and I mean really, $2.10 for a meal is not bad. So I forgive myself and move on and feel all happy.

Today I was feeling a little down-in-the-dumps as I was driving home, and even though I wasn't really all that hungry, I decided I needed to treat myself! And I thought, they have served hash browns in my school cafeteria for 2 days and I have wanted those little buggers both days, and I haven't gotten them, so I might as well get myself some fries from In-n-Out!

So I turned in. And that's where I saw her.

She was driving a green Jeep Cherokee. Her hairs were piled in a little nest on top of her head. Her husband sat in the passenger seat, and three tweenage kids sat in the back. Her arm flab sat happily on her rolled-down window.

The line for the drive-through was quite long, so it went out into the parking lot, and even though she was next in line, I didn't see her when I pulled up. Neither did the Toyota Corolla pulling up from the other side, so we both started edging up, trying to find a good spot to get in line. We saw each other. We both waved apologetically and stopped.

Only then did I notice the nest-haired Cherokee driver. She had already noticed me, of course, and was gesturing and talking angrily at her husband about the whole thing.

Even though she had chosen an absolutely asinine place to continue the line at the drive-thru, I acknowledged that she had been there first, and was before me in line. So I smiled and waved to let her know that I knew that she was before me in the line.

She nodded ferociously and pointed this way and that to clarify that I was darn right about that. A little piece of hair flipped out of her nest and fell down into her eyes. Her husband said something. She turned and snarled something at him.

She looked ridiculous. I gave her a huge smile and a thumbs-up to let her know we could still be friends.

She tried to give me a thumbs-up in return, but got a hand-twitch at the last second and her thumb didn't quite make it. Another finger subbed in.

And that's when I realized, I cannot eat here. I might turn into her. I cannot do that. I cannot be someone who gets mad in the drive-thru line of In-n-Out. I will not stand for it. I put Carbaby in reverse. I surrendered my spot in line. I got out while I still could.

This experience may be the most powerful coping mechanism yet.