I’m at Target, checking out. No bags. No paper bags, just the miserable plastic ones.
“Another no-bag period, eh?” I ask the guest assistant. “What’s the reason this time?”
“I’m guessing they didn’t ship,” he said. Yes, that could be it. I got everything in 9 bags and schlepped them out to the car. Time for supper. I had a sudden interesting in Wendy’s, which I hadn’t visited in years. They changed their buns, made a big deal out of their new artisanal buns. I tried one, and it was stale and bad. But that was years ago. The Wendy’s sized burger would hit the spot.
Drove across the street, parked. Walked to the Wendy’s. The doors were locked. The open sign was on. There were clerks at the counter. But the door was locked. I figured they probably lacked staff, and didn’t have anyone who could do all the dining-room things like . . . hosing it down every three hours? It wasn’t as if they were busy at all.
I drove around to the drive-through, because we now have to eat in our cars, hunched over like savages, instead of sitting at a table like civilized people. The speaker crackled and my order was requested.
I am making none of this up. This is exactly what happened.
“I would like a hamburger,” I said, “and a small fries.”
There was a pause.
“A junior hamburger?”
“What? No. A hamburger.”
Pause.
“Dave hamburger?” There was a Dave’s combo, named after the founder.
“No. A hamburger. And a small French fries.”
Pause. “Please pull to the second window.”
This I did. The order-taker was leaning out, perplexed.
“What do you want?” She said.
“A hamburger,” I said. “And a small fries.”
“A junior hamburger.”
“I don’t know what that is. Is it for kids? I want a hamburger.”
Pause.
“Eight hamburgers?”
“One hamburger. A hamburger.”
She went away for a minute then came back, holding up some fingers that added up to - well, you know.
“Eight hamburgers?” She said tentatively.
“Never mind,” I said, and drove off. Fine. McDonald’s it is, then. I parked and walked across the lot.
“Dining room’s closed,” someone heading back to her car said. “Only drive-through.”
Okay. Of course. God, I hope before I die I see the America I used to know return.
Well, there’s a Shake Shack. Overpriced, or overrated? Why not both? I went there, and asked the clerk for a hamburger, ketchup, mustard, onions He made several taps on the screen, and we were good.
When the hamburger arrived it had no ketchup or mustard. Okay. I went to the condiment place, and passed a manager, and I said “I ordered ketchup and mustard, and it arrived pretty dry.”
“We don’t put ketchup or mustard on them,” he said. “You do that.” And he pointed to the pumps and buckets.
Okay. But if that’s the case, why did the clerk take my order and say nothing? If I’d said “one hamburger, with uranium and heroin,” would have have nodded and tapped and let me go on my merry way?
Also, it rained all day, and I got five hours of sleep. Ready to have another run at this whole “normal day” thing on Thursday.
And now, this year's Above-the Fold Kul-chah Feature, or ATFKF.
View of the Garden of Villa d’Este in Tivoli, Isaac de Moucheron, c. 1725
Says the museum:
Isaac de Moucheron often painted and drew Italian landscapes with monumental classical buildings or ruins. These would generally be more or less symmetrical in construction. He also built up a considerable clientele as a painter of wall hangings. Although De Moucheron lived in Italy from 1694 to 1697, he may have based this later drawing on an engraving of the famous garden by another artist.
The dogs came along on the outing:
Here's little sister, who's found the most delightful collection of skulls:
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