Perhaps some of the most treasured memories of an American roadtrip are warm feelings towards the small restaurants you can encounter along the way. I particularly enjoy the mom-and-pop chain known as “Sonic,” in which you can purchase enormous portions of food for no apparent reason.
The last time I visited, under a beating Arizona sun and slightly mad with thirst, I mistakenly stumbled over my words and ordered a “large Coke.” At first I was curious why it was taking so long to proffer said beverage, until I heard the sound of the reverse alarm on the forklift. When the harried and sweating attendant returned to the counter, she came with help in the form of a burly construction worker.
“This is Ted,” she told me. Hi Ted.
I was just about to ask why Ted was here, when I realized the side of the pressure vessel in which my precious Coke lived was stenciled with tall yellow letters spelling out “TWO MAN LIFT REQUIRED.”
“Does he... come with me? I don’t have cupholders in my car.”
That did it. The wide-eyed attendant hit some kind of silent alarm, and bulletproof roll-shutters slid over the counter, nearly severing the arm of another customer as they reached out for their Bacon Cheeseburger Toaster. Moments later, SWAT appeared in the parking lot.
As they escorted me to the border to be deported, I now realized that I never actually got my Coke. Who’s really doing the “Unamerican Activities” here, Sonic?
