The Five Stages Of Grief After Being Cut Off In The In-N-Out Drive Thru
Denial- There’s no way that woman is going to hit you with her minivan in the In-N-Out drive thru line! The sign said that the two lines should alternate, merging into one. Surely she is just confused. Maybe she can’t read! Maybe she can’t see! You feel ashamed for being ableist. Being hangry is not an excuse, be the bigger person. Be compassionate. Oh, no, she’s looking at you. She can see just fine as she revs the engine of her souped-up soccer mom machine. Slam on your brakes!
Anger- What the @!%* does she think she’s doing? This is an overrated burger joint, not a monster truck rally! You feel yourself steaming up like a little teapot, your face gets red and flushed like the ketchup stain on the asphalt next to you. You angrily whisper a string of colorful words while flipping her two middle fingers from just out of her field of vision. This &)$#* thinks its ok to not follow the instructed traffic flow?! She’s just like your own mother, always trying to belittle you.
Bargaining- You stare wistfully out the window, seeing the light of the In-N-Out sign. Speaking to the burger gods and french fry deities, you ask for the love and attention that you never got from your own mom. Please, if this woman just decides against ordering and pulls out of line, you promise to always be the kindest, most considerate drive-thru patron to ever exist. You’ll even start tipping! Oh please, powerful ones in animal-style heaven, make Marvelous Mrs. Minivan back up so you can claim your rightful spot in line. You’ve had a rough day, and the only way you can unwind is with a sweet strawberry shake.
Depression- As she puts in her order, you feel your eyes fill with tears. Why do you let people take advantage of you? Your mother was right, you’ll never amount to anything. Here you are, 28, single, eating dinner at a fast food restaurant for the seventh- no, eighth- night in a row. You are pathetic, you let people walk all over you. You can’t even get your food without almost being taken out by Mistress Minivan. You lower your forehead to the steering wheel, and let the teardrops fall. If only the soda fountain poured at the same rate as your tears, this line would actually be moving.
Acceptance- You pull up to the window to pay, and the cashier informs you that the “kind woman” in the car in front of you paid for your dinner. Maybe you should call your mother.
