Jack in the Box
We are outside of Fred's or Bogie's or Dublin's or whatever possesive-obsessed sweatfest we had chosen for the evening. Haley's hair is now a hive of spirals and frizz due to the impermeable humidity of southern Louisiana. Sweat from the small of my back seeps into my cotton tee, sticking. I smell like whiskey and smoke. My toes, previously pedicured, are blackish from bar sludge. I should not have worn flip flops.
We fling ourselves into Haley's red Isuzu Rodeo. It looks shiny. Clean. I mention this to her.
"I've never washed it," she says.
"Ever?"
"I just leave it out in the rain."
She starts the ignition, puts the car in reverse, and maneuvers around a large mudhole she had parked near in order to get a spot up close. (no one else would have dared to navigate that mudhole).
We decided we needed food. Immediately.
Of course this being a time in Baton Rouge before all of the new college lifestyle luxuries, such as twenty-four hour drive-thru, had sprung up.
Wendy's closed at one.
We look at the clock in the dashboard. It is 3 a.m.
Cane's is closed, I say.
There's always Louie's, says Haley.
I picture all of the late night vultures pecking at their ham and cheese omelettes, slurring and swaying, smelling of smoke and excreting various forms of alcohol through their humidified pores.
No.
Haley says she doesn't want to go there anyway because she might see Drew again and she is embarrassed of her behavior earlier in the night.
"Jack in the Box. We have to have Jack in the Box," says Haley, emphatically. "Must have. That's it, we are going to Jack in the Box."
"But that's all the way out on Seigen Lane," I say, pointing out that it's a good 15-minute drive out there.
Haley does not care. She is on a mission.
Fifteen minutes later (and no more sober) we hang a right under the glowing 24-hour drive-thru sign at Jack in the Box. Ahh, we've arrived.
Oh good, I say. There are employees inside. It looks like they are smoking a joint. They are smoking a joint. I'm pretty sure of it. I chuckle.
We bounce to a stop in front of the menu.
Then, things get a little fuzzy.
We try to place our order. I'm sure a couple of burgers and maybe some of those taco things.
What? Resistance from the twenty-four hour drive thru? You can't be closed!
THE SIGN SAYS TWENTY FOUR HOURS! Haley is screaming into the speaker. Something about smoking pot and not being able to fix a hamburger and supervisors.
Then, when Haley realizes that she isn't going to get her food, she slams her foot on the gas pedal, rolls her window down and sticks her fist out, shaking it violently, and screams to the teenage pot smokers inside the window, YOU'RE GOING DOWN!
YOU'RE GOING DOWN!
Ah yes, the intimidating battle cry of a drunk, hungry college girl behind the wheel of a large vehicle.
The boys laughed as our tires squealed on the left turn out.
Haley immediately called up Jack in the Box's customer service department and filed a complaint.
"Yes. They were smoking pot and refused to take our order...that's right. Seigen Lane..."
I was impressed by her attempt to sound sober and mature. However, I was certain that the Jack in the Box people knew she was hammered and were just humoring her.
Nevertheless, a few weeks later, Haley received in the mail a year's worth of vouchers for free meals at Jack in the Box.
We fling ourselves into Haley's red Isuzu Rodeo. It looks shiny. Clean. I mention this to her.
"I've never washed it," she says.
"Ever?"
"I just leave it out in the rain."
She starts the ignition, puts the car in reverse, and maneuvers around a large mudhole she had parked near in order to get a spot up close. (no one else would have dared to navigate that mudhole).
We decided we needed food. Immediately.
Of course this being a time in Baton Rouge before all of the new college lifestyle luxuries, such as twenty-four hour drive-thru, had sprung up.
Wendy's closed at one.
We look at the clock in the dashboard. It is 3 a.m.
Cane's is closed, I say.
There's always Louie's, says Haley.
I picture all of the late night vultures pecking at their ham and cheese omelettes, slurring and swaying, smelling of smoke and excreting various forms of alcohol through their humidified pores.
No.
Haley says she doesn't want to go there anyway because she might see Drew again and she is embarrassed of her behavior earlier in the night.
"Jack in the Box. We have to have Jack in the Box," says Haley, emphatically. "Must have. That's it, we are going to Jack in the Box."
"But that's all the way out on Seigen Lane," I say, pointing out that it's a good 15-minute drive out there.
Haley does not care. She is on a mission.
Fifteen minutes later (and no more sober) we hang a right under the glowing 24-hour drive-thru sign at Jack in the Box. Ahh, we've arrived.
Oh good, I say. There are employees inside. It looks like they are smoking a joint. They are smoking a joint. I'm pretty sure of it. I chuckle.
We bounce to a stop in front of the menu.
Then, things get a little fuzzy.
We try to place our order. I'm sure a couple of burgers and maybe some of those taco things.
What? Resistance from the twenty-four hour drive thru? You can't be closed!
THE SIGN SAYS TWENTY FOUR HOURS! Haley is screaming into the speaker. Something about smoking pot and not being able to fix a hamburger and supervisors.
Then, when Haley realizes that she isn't going to get her food, she slams her foot on the gas pedal, rolls her window down and sticks her fist out, shaking it violently, and screams to the teenage pot smokers inside the window, YOU'RE GOING DOWN!
YOU'RE GOING DOWN!
Ah yes, the intimidating battle cry of a drunk, hungry college girl behind the wheel of a large vehicle.
The boys laughed as our tires squealed on the left turn out.
Haley immediately called up Jack in the Box's customer service department and filed a complaint.
"Yes. They were smoking pot and refused to take our order...that's right. Seigen Lane..."
I was impressed by her attempt to sound sober and mature. However, I was certain that the Jack in the Box people knew she was hammered and were just humoring her.
Nevertheless, a few weeks later, Haley received in the mail a year's worth of vouchers for free meals at Jack in the Box.
posted by lauren at 10:42 AM
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