Every once in awhile, on cold, lonely nights, I sit in my living room and my dog and I look at each other with that 1,000 mile stare knowing that there is only one thing in the Universe that can possibly ease this nagging existential pain.
Three things, actually: fries, a cherry coke, and a thickburger.
Being a champion of pro-activity, I suited up and made my way to Hardee’s drive-thru window, with Khan manning (dogging?) the back seat. Once there, I had what would become the most awkward giggling fit in recent memory.
But first, some context. It’s 9:50 PM, 10 minutes before Hardee’s closing time. Other than two employees in the kitchen, there is no one in the restaurant and no one in the parking lot. Even the road in front of Hardee’s has scantly any travelers at this hour. This is all to say that it is quiet enough to allow my mind to mischievously meander.
And needless to say, I’m hungry. It’s possible that the fumes from my empty stomach had somehow worked their way to my brain.
What spurred the giggling fit, as best as I can tell, had to do with the music selection. I shouldn’t say “selection,” because I can say with near-certainty that this was not a tune that was selected by the folks working in the kitchen at that moment.
The song was one that I hadn’t heard for a few years, and before that, not since the 90’s. The song has always been pretty humorous in a laughing-at-you-not-with-you sort of way, but it gained a new level of hilarity in my mind when it was parodied on The Sarah Silverman Show by Brian Posehn, who played (and actually is in real life) a Metal-loving music nerd. In one episode, he was confronted by his boyfriend after his dirty little secret was discovered that the only song on his iPod is Spin Doctors's Two Princes.
The memory of Brian Posehn jamming out to the song led me to imagine the young chap in front of me doing the same thing. The irony was too much to bear. If you think it’s funny to imagine a nerdy white guy jamming out to Spin Doctors, try imagining a cool young black guy doing it, but in the Hardee’s kitchen, when no one is around, with the song playing on repeat.
He opened the window to hand me that stuffed brown paper bag that always makes me salivate like one of Pavlov’s dogs, and as he thanked me and told me to have a nice night, I tried to respond in kind, but my attempt at a serious salutation to this fellow that I had just imagined getting his Spin Doctors on came out more like “Youew thpupuou—”
And at that point the full-on belly-aching hilarity ensued. I tried desperately to work the damn shifter into drive and escape this moment of humiliating awkwardness, but I was overpowered by the heaves of my esophagus – or whatever – just trying to choke down some air. Now Khan’s getting excited, standing up and putting his wet nose in my ear, making my escape even more tenuous.
I can’t be sure, but I think at one point, in a desperate manoeuver, I might have looked up and given the young lad one of those palms-up nervous-smile shoulder-shrug thingies. I was too embarrassed to remember his reaction, but I’m sure it was a good one.
It was at this point that I faced the ultimate dilemma: Do I just drive off into the night letting mysteries be mysteries and hope to God that I never have to face him again, or do I, in the interest of conscience, try to explain to him the reason for my behavior? I considered, briefly, the second option. And then I floored it.
Can’t fault a dude for the giggles, I reasoned.
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