Bits for Sunday, August 3, 2008

Today I lovingly bring to you what I like to call “the peril of the drive-thru window.” I’ll start by saying that I grew up in a home vastly divided on the issue of the drive-thru. My Mom (much like most mothers, I’m sure) loved the creation of the drive-thru. My, father, on the other hand, had nothing to do with them, insisting upon the extra personal touch of actually walking into the business.

In seasons of rain, sleet, snow, wind, ice, and extreme heat (so in Indiana…95% of the time) I agreed with my Mom. Why bother exiting a comfortable car to brave the elements for an ice cream cone? In seasons of social need (so in Bekahland…95% of the time) I agreed with my Dad. Nothing could top that actual face to face meeting, even if it was just to make a bank deposit.

I think you see the dilemma.

But the event that pushed me entirely to my Dad’s side happened when I was fairly young. It was probably a Friday because I’m pretty sure the bank drive-thru line was long with paycheck owners. Obviously the fact that I was in the drive-thru line tells me I was with my Mom. As we waited our turn for Mom to do whatever she came to do, we noticed some commotion in another lane. Long story short (and I’m not entirely sure how we figured all this out unless we overheard the hysteria), the woman trying to cash her paycheck ended up losing it somehow, somewhere in the bank chute. I don’t remember if the whole canister got lodged somewhere between her car and the inside of the bank, or if it came open and the check came out. Maybe we didn’t even know. But we knew that the woman and her “I need this to survive” money had been separated and it was not a pretty picture. And that soured me toward drive-thru windows for years to come.

It all happens in the drive-thru. The lid comes off the drink in transit between the worker’s hand and yours and 32 ounces of Mountain Dew showers your freshly washed driver’s side door. (This one is obviously not a personal example since anyone who knows me knows my driver’s door hasn’t been “freshly washed” since the last rain.) The quarter you’re trying to hand over slips through your fingers and rolls back to the car behind you, leaving you to scour purse and car seat for a new one while drivers six cars back start slapping the steering wheel and muttering lovely things.

And of course there’s the final acceptance of the food, followed by the merging into traffic only to discover that something is missing….a straw, or worse, the burger, which was the only thing scheduled to get you through the afternoon.

Because of these things, for years, I followed my Dad’s leading and boycotted drive-thru’s, but recent years of laziness have caused me to follow my Mom’s perspective.

Yesterday, however, provided a “this is why I should side with my Dad on the drive-thru issue” moment for me. I’d gone to Ft. Wayne to see my best friend and I had a great time hanging out with her…shopping…all the fun stuff. On my way home, I began to crave a Starbucks caramel frappuccino. The farther I drove, the more I craved.

So I found the nearest Starbucks, drove in, and headed for the drive-thru. It was blessed hot yesterday and my car was so cool (okay frigid) from a solid hour of blasting air, and I didn’t want to walk outside even for three steps to the front door. I was welcomed by the chipper barista and placed my order for a caramel frappe (because I normally order at Tree of Life, it just spills out that way). She verified my order and I scooted around to wait. I saw her coming toward the window and my mouth watered for the frozen drink.

But she was carrying a hot drink. She pushed open the window and said (rather cheerily, I might add) “Here’s your caramel latte!” NOOOOOOOOO!! Not latte. FRAPPE!!! I didn’t argue it. She’d repeated the order to me and through the magic of garbled drive-thru systems, she said and heard latte, and I said and heard frappe. I knew I should have said the full “frappuccino.” But then…doesn’t that sound exactly like “cappuccino” on the other side of electronic devices? I can’t win.

So until Starbucks gets a camera in their drive-thru to lip-read the orders, I think I will join my Dad in the persuasion that in-person transactions are better.