We're Out of That

Alex drove down Westnedge Ave towards his downtown Kalamazoo apartment just before midnight. Reflected rainbow-varied lights shone off of the slick, rain-soaked road, but the distraction didn't slow his progress home. Tonight had been one of his most annoying shifts at work in a long time. He worked second shift at Dairy Queen– and today had been scorching hot with 100% humidity. Every little fuckin' kid in Michigan had been promised ice cream after their Little League game so he'd flung more soft-serve cones, Dilly bars and Blizzards that the Dairy Queen herself. And, to top it off, every other customer was batshit crazy. It was as though the restaurant doubled as the Kalamazoo Psychiatric Hospital's cafeteria.

Even now, more than two hours after sunset, steam rose off the road and sweat dribbled down the back of his neck. The rainstorm hadn't cooled the night one iota. The air conditioning in his 1999 Toyota Corolla gave out last month and, well, being a shift manager at Dairy Queen didn't exactly churn cash flow, but at least he got to stuff himself every day with ice creamy-goodness. That had to count for something, right? He flipped on the radio and quickly diverted the car into his personal favorite fast food joint: Taco Bell. He was starving.

A flat, "Can I help you?" came from the Taco Bell speaker box at Alex, now looking at their array of "Mexican" cuisine.

"Um, yeah, I think, um..." Alex's mind stumbled. There was one car behind him so he tried to hurry, but Taco Bell was probably going to be today's highlight and there were so many damn combinations. Looking in his rearview mirror, though, Alex saw that the lady behind him was bent over, seemingly looking for something on the floor of her car, her blond head bobbing up and down like a pecking chicken. Alex couldn't see her face to judge her patience; she wasn't honking yet, though, so he took his time.

An audible sigh emerged from the speaker box followed by a flat "Just go ahead when you're ready."

"Ugh. Fine. I'll just take the Nachos Bell Grande Combo, #T5, with extra sour cream and a hard shell taco. With Diet Pepsi for the drink." Got to do something to keep from inching past that 200 lbs. mark, he thought. Although a little over six feet tall, Alex didn't carry his weight well: it all went to his belly.

"We're outta Diet Pepsi."

Whatever. "Just Pepsi, then."

"Pull ahead" commanded the box. Um, ok then, Alex thought: no total dollar amount, no "please," no "will that be all?" Just, "pull ahead." Lovely. Alex understood from personal experience that working fast food wasn't dreamy but he couldn't understand how people who obviously hated dealing with the public ended up at a drive-thru window. Alex found working the drive-thru to be a lot of fun– most of the time. Sure, some nights it could be a pain; for example, tonight this lady had a near conniption fit because they didn't have chocolate soft serve ice cream. When he broke the news to her about the chocolate, she launched into a tirade of hysterical profanity-laden squelching and sped up to the window, slamming on her brakes.

"What do you mean you ain't got no fuckin' chocolate?" she shrieked.

"Ma'am," Alex explained, "that side of the machine isn't working right. We've only got vanilla. Sorry."

"I don't care!" Her face glowed red, framed by over-highlighted, fool's-gold-colored blond locks. "Every time I come here you're out of something. I don't want some shitty boring-ass vanilla. I came here for an Oreo Blizzard with CHOCOLATE ice cream," she shouted, "and I don't want no stinkin' ass vanilla. Get it together." She glared up at him from her Honda two-door whatever; she was way too tall for it.

"Ma'am. We don't have chocolate. I don't know what else to tell you. It doesn't matter how loud you yell, it ain't gonna make the chocolate work. Now, do you want that Blizzard with vanilla or what?" Alex's cool waned.