Drive-Through Dashboard Confessionals

The drive-through is a contradictory place. Let me explain. It's one of those places that is naturally geared to be very impersonal, quick, and efficient. However, it can't be thoroughly impersonal because people run it. Because of this, there are always "mistakes": People order the wrong thing, the employees jumble your order (not often, of course), or people don't have their payment out right away. Still, think of how boring it would be if every order was perfect. Because people are still involved in this process, it makes for some fantastic quotes. :)

Overheard in the drive-through (at McD's):

"I need a Whopper Jr..." "I'm sorry... a what?" "A Whopper Jr. I don't see it on the menu here... John, can you help me?" *chuckling in the background* "Oh my gawwd. JOHN! Really?!" *louder laughter* "I'm sorry! He told me to order it! Uh... can I get uh... can I get a
McDouble...?"

"Yeah... lemme get a Big Mac, a medium diet coke, and your number?"

The phrase, "Can I order a...?" makes me laugh. No you can't order that
hamburger. I ate them all. I think you mean "May I...?" (Sorry. English major).
And even then, I can't "stop" you from ordering it. Example: "May I order a...?"
"Um, actually no you can't." "Why?" "I... find that... offensive."

In other news: The smoothie / frappe machine needs to die.

That French-Sounding Drink

If you haven't heard of the new McDonald's Frappes, then you have been living in a hole (forgive me for not inserting the accent mark - I can't figure out how to insert one in this formatting system). They are on every commercial, radio broadcast, billboard and subway stop.

Yet, despite the wide broadcast of how to pronounce the name "Frappe," there is an equally wide array of mispronunciations. Apparently French words are a little difficult for the average New Englander, or "New Englandah," should I say. Not that I am blaming them - I don't see why the fast food industry is cashing in on fancy coffee drinks, espressos, and most of all French-named drinks.

Top favorites:

Frappees: Yes, pronounced just how that looks. It's so hard not to laugh when some rough and tough Northern construction worker comes over the intercom system and says, "Yeah, can I get a mocher frappee?"

Frapp...aae: Then there are the timid ones. The ones who feel like idiots for mispronouncing it, but who don't want to pronounce it the "right" way because they feel too uppity.

Frappe: Pronounced like the alternative to a milkshake up North. This one is understandable, and I think the safest option. This is the one that I use from time to time, because it is one syllable. No, despite my rantings, I am not one of those employees who will correct your pronunciation of the drink over the intercom system. I just do it behind your back on my blog.

Frappaccino: This is the Starbucks alternative, and legally at McD's we're not allowed to call the drink this. Not even kidding - there's a posted rule.

Iced Mocha Frappe: Alright now. Don't confuse us. We're McD's employees after all. =P

Civic Engineering

I have been a most excellent citizen in the past two days.

On the first day, I went to the high school gymnasium to vote on whether or not the town should build a new high school. Civic duty accomplished.

While I was there, I realized once again how small of a town I live in. This was the biggest deal that I have ever seen in our local town system. Ever. The turnout rate for this might have been bigger than we had for the presidential elections. People were standing by the roads with signs and there were cars decked out in "Vote Yes" or "Vote No" banners.

Not only was there a great deal of "spirit" for this, but it occured to me that in order to cast your ballot, you were not required to provide ID - all you had to do was state the street that you lived on and your name. They found your name on the list and gave you your ballot. Small town? Yeah.

The very next day I was summoned to jury duty. I had never been before, and the trip to the new courthouse in my county was an interesting experience.

My mom did a test drive with me the day before because I could probably manage to get lost even with a GPS. It was very helpful and I felt confident that the next morning at 6:45 I could find my way there.

I did arrive safely at the parking garage - a little frazzled because of the insane amount of commuter traffic, but safe nonetheless - and I proceeded to make my way up to the second floor to find a parking space.

I drove around, growing more and more anxious because I couldn't find a single open parking space. I drove past a set of reserved parking spaces, and then noticed another set of them when I drove around some more. And then I realized that the cars looked exactly the same after the third time that I drove around. In fact, they were the same.

I had been driving around in circles for the whole time.

Naturally, since it was 7:15 in the morning and I was a little stressed and overtired, I did not realize this until I had been driving around for ten minutes. Thankfully up on the fourth floor, there were some very spacious parking spaces, and I parked my car and walked over to the courthouse.

Once there, my bag had to be screened and as I waited, I heard one of the officers telling another woman where the room was for jury duty. Once I realized this common bond, this woman and I began chatting. I must have a complex with my age, because somehow within the first three minutes of meeting this woman I felt it necessary to slip into the conversation that I was in fact 21.

Up in the jury room, I handed in my questionnaire, got a number and sat down in a cushy seat amongst fifty other people. It reminded me of a combination between a classroom and an airplane. It was set up like a classroom - with the court officer being the teacher who told us what to do and had us watch an educational video about the court system. It was like an airplane because we didn't have an assignment, and we could talk to the random person who was sitting next to us if we wanted. Granted, nobody started talking until 10:00 (you know, once everyone had been awake for a while). At 7:30 in the morning, the room had been completely silent.

We sat there. And sat. And sat some more. I knew that eventually she would call a group to go and be interviewed, but that time never came, and it was getting close to noon, which was an hour away from when I knew that they would let us go. Eventually the judge came out. Apparently the cases that they had on the schedule for that day plead out, and they didn't need jurers anyway. Needless to say, we were useless. However, they made it sound as if we had put this man away anyways even though we hadn't done anything. Well, I guess we did do something. We did sit in a room for four hours listening to the random guy in the back complain about how he couldn't have his cigarettes. We did do that.

Now I Can Do Everything Except Rent a Car

Drumroll please... I am officially 21. Yes it may be shocking, but the small blonde girl who looks as if she is sixteen is actually old enough to consume alcohol.

At the beginning of the week I went out with my boyfriend to an Italian restaurant where we ordered ravioli and some chardonnay. The waitress must have peered intently at our licenses for a good five minutes. It's understandable - both of us do appear to be just above driving age. Still, she kept turning them over, making sure that the special hologram was in its place and the "Under 21 until..." date was accurate. Then she said, "Yeah, when I went out for my 21st, all I was drinkin' was cheap booze." This of course instantly made me feel bad about drinking the chardonnay, but it was a special occasion, and as we all know, the "special occasion" card may be used to get out of feeling bad for most things.

The best part about this excursion was that we used some of my boyfriend's mom's gift certificates. She is a teacher, and receives the many gift cards and presents from her students every Christmas and end of the year. Needless to say, the little third graders unwittingly paid for my first glass of alcohol.

"You Only Try To Lasso a Fan Once"

Yeah. That's basically it.

Never again will I take 17 credit hours and do 15 hours of work study per week. I have learned my lesson.

Recently, a select few seniors from Covenant have been giving their senior testimonies in chapel. At least a few of them have composed lists of "Things that they have learned..." because they are soon to be the wise, all-knowing graduates and feel the need to pass on their wisdom to us lowly underclassmen. In this spirit, I thought I would share with you some things that I have learned / bits of wisdom (besides the above)... in no particular order:

1. There are lots of splendid people here. Spend time with them.
2. "Chicken Fried" is THE ideal country song. It's right up there with "Backwards" by Rascal Flatts.
   
3. Hardly anyone can figure out all of the intricacies of Finnegan's Wake, so don't feel so bad because you can't.
4. Putting random facts in the bathroom stalls is a great plan. So far I have learned that Isaac Asimov is the only author to have a book in every section of the Dewey Decimal System. This is going to be great for Jeopardy! this summer.
5. Be nice to your roommate. Sometimes they bite.
   
6. D.H. Lawrence looks eerily like my history teacher from high school.
7. Get over your fear of singing by yourself. It's okay.
8. Do not leave your cell phone charging on your desk during open dorm hours. Someone could come in and put it in your vent. ;)
9. Have deep conversations. They mean a lot.

I couldn't really think of anything for number 10. Sorry to all of you with OCD tendencies.

Squirt Gun Stress

In my three years at college, I have never played the hallowed and much anticipated game of Assassins. Nor do I want to.

I have witnessed the paranoia that ensues every Spring in February. Right after chapel on the first day, everyone rushes out, water guns in hand, frantically looking for their target in the crowd. They have of course stalked them beforehand by looking them up in the campus directory.

Oh yes. This game is intense.

They even have a rule book. You can't squirt someone in the chapel, in class, at work, in their room, etc. You can only really squirt someone when they're in transition from one to the other. You can get them in the cafeteria however.

Last night I went to dinner with one of my friends who works in admissions - a poor innocent freshman who is new to the game, and is determined to stick it out to the end. She insisted that we go to dinner at 6:00 in order to avoid the crowd that comes at 5:00. We also sat at a booth on the outskirts of the Great Hall so that we weren't out in the open. Even while we were there, every 10 seconds she was looking behind her back to make sure that her assassin was not approaching with a water gun.

Nobody needs that kind of stress. You'll get an ulcer by the time you're 21.

One day before I graduate I want to run up to a random student while reaching into my pocket like I have a water gun, and belt out the best war-cry that I can think of... and then watch them scamper off. Hehe.

"Hey, You've Reached... Admissions"

The admissions office of the college seems to be a wealth of entertaining tidbits sometimes. Last night was no exception.

Voicemails:

I have discovered that high school seniors have some interesting ideas of what constitutes a good voicemail these days. Here are some of the gems from the evening.

• "Hey, this is _____, but I've gotta' go get ready for the zombie apocalypse, so I'll talk to you later." (Really? Okay, but I mean... you could go to college and get a good education so that you could learn how to intelligently fight off the zombies during the apocalypse. But no - rather, you're going to ignore your phone and make me listen to this ridiculous voice message every time).


• "You've reached _____. I'm not here right now, so if you're a thief, this would be a great time to break in. Just to make life easier on you, we keep all our money in a tin box underneath my bed. . ." (I can't make this stuff up).


• (This one went on for a good minute and a half. I'm including the selection that I remember). "Sorry I missed your call. I'm probably busy doing something else like reading, watching TV. . . doing homework, driving - and then I really shouldn't be answering my phone anyway. I'm a busy guy, you know? There are a lot of things in my life: my family, my friends, Christ. . . but thankfully they created answering machines, so you should take advantage of that and leave me a message." (I was kind of stunned when it finally ended and the beep came. I was sort of waiting for the guy to say "just kidding," and ask me who I was. But no. This was a legitimate message. People like this make me wonder if we should have fast forward buttons for messages).


• I do enjoy the "listen to this while your party is reached" ringer. This was a good plan, and probably invented by a telemarketer. Yesterday I enjoyed listening to "I'm Yours" while my prospective student was reached. Another was some classical music. Yet another was the song "Alcohol" by Brad Paisely, which always made me feel like I was somehow breaking contract by listening to it at work.

General Shennanigans:

If you ever hear us in the admissions office mention "So on a scale from Judas to Jesus...", this is what we mean: Apparently our boss created a ranking system from 1-5 that ranks your performance as a caller. Judas is a 1, and means that you're really bad at your job. The ranking goes like this: Judas - Peter after the denial - a local pastor - Mother Theresa - Jesus. You have officially made it as a caller when you're as good as Mother Theresa. However, no one can be a 5. It's not possible, and it might be blasphemy.