First Drive-Through Experience: Finger Chips and Beefy Surprises

It was 2006, and I had only been in the US for a few months, still adjusting to the culture and language. One evening, I decided to grab some fast food from McDonald’s on my way home. I drove up to the drive-through lane, waiting for my turn to order. There wasn’t much of a rush that day, with just a couple of cars ahead of me. It took hardly three minutes for my turn to come.

“Are you ready to order, Sir?” the lady asked over the speaker.

I can tell you it’s a very bizarre experience to order your food through a microphone, speaking to an unknown entity you can’t see, especially when you’ve never done this before.

Nevertheless, I played along, just like the other customers ahead of me who had finished their orders.

“Yes. I would like large finger chips and a coke, please.”

“I’m sorry, but can you repeat the order, Sir?” She sounded puzzled.

“I would like large finger chips and a coke, please,” I repeated, louder this time.

“We don’t have finger chips, Sir,” she replied.

Her response irked me. First, she made me repeat my order, and now she seemed unfamiliar with her own menu. I could clearly see the picture of the finger chips on the menu posted on the giant panel with the speaker and microphone.

“What are you talking about? I see it on the menu,” I said, my irritation evident.

There was a brief pause before she responded.

“Can you describe it to me, Sir?”

“Of course. It’s thin and long, like fingers, and it’s made of potatoes,” I replied confidently, thinking she must be a newbie unaware of the most basic fast food item on earth.

“Umm, are you talking about French fries, Sir?” she asked, and I detected a touch of sarcasm in her tone. That’s the downside of not being able to see the person taking your order. I imagined her back in the booth, laughing.

“I guess I am,” I replied timidly, noticing the item labeled “French Fries” next to the picture I had been looking at. I hadn’t even bothered to read the name—or rather, the American name.

“What was wrong with finger chips that these guys had to invent a new name for it? Why did they have to complicate things? And what’s French about French fries anyway?” I pondered as she handed me the packet. The order was ready almost instantly.

“Whatever,” I muttered as I munched on my finger chips and drove away.

Dharma Bhrasta: By a Burger

Now that I had added “French fries” to my active vocabulary, I felt more confident about ordering at McDonald’s. The next day, on my way home from work, I decided to pick up food from the same McDonald’s again. I drove up to the giant panel in the drive-through, took a cursory look at the menu, and waited for the lady to ask for my order.

“Are you ready to order, Sir?” she asked the familiar question.

“Yes! I’d like a cheeseburger and…a large French fries!” I replied, bracing myself for the usual, “Excuse me, can you repeat that, please?” that often followed due to my strong Indian accent.

“Sure. Would there be anything else?” she asked.

“Oh my God! She understood me on the first try! I can’t believe I nailed it this time, not just the accent part but also the French fries part!” I was jubilant over my small triumph.

I hid my excitement, though. “No, that’d be all,” I confirmed and drove up to the payment window. I was still fist-pumping and smiling when I reached the window. The way the lady at the window looked at me, I was certain I must have appeared like an idiot, grinning for no apparent reason. I was just picking up my order, not asking her on a date! Well, a smile was my best defense in awkward situations.

I picked up my order and reached home. My roommate Akira, as usual, was in her bed reading a book. I was already starving, so without wasting a moment, I sat on the couch and unwrapped the cheeseburger. It smelled heavenly. The next thing I knew, I was already munching on the first bite.

“Mmmm…it’s delicious,” I mumbled, relishing the burger, eyes closed, holding it with both hands.

As I was still savoring the burger, my phone rang. It was a colleague who had also immigrated from India a few years ago.

“Dude, I’m planning to go out for dinner. Do you want to join me?” he asked.

“Just a tad late. I just had a cheeseburger,” I replied, munching on my second bite.

“Cheeseburger? From McDonald’s?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah. Why?” I sensed something was wrong. I had already stopped chewing, fearing the worst.

“I thought you didn’t eat beef,” he said.

“Beef? What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, panicky.

“The patty, man, the patty! It’s beef,” he almost shouted.

“Blarrghhh…” I almost threw up right there on the couch. The ground beneath me felt like it was giving way. I couldn’t speak another word. I ran to the bathroom to throw up. I’m sure my colleague could hear my agony since I didn’t even bother to hang up. I mean, sure, I could eat chicken, but eating a cow was a whole new ballgame. The thought was as disgusting to me as eating maggots.

I must have spent at least 10 minutes in the bathroom trying to throw my guts out. Akira, of course, saw it all and came to check on me.

“Are you okay?” she knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yeah…Gimme…a minute…blarrghhh,” I tried to reply, my fingers digging in as deep in my throat as they could.

When I realized I couldn’t throw up anymore, I came out of the bathroom, sick to the bone.

“Those buggers duped me. They said it was a cheeseburger!” I almost sobbed to Akira.

She burst into laughter upon hearing the story and had only one thing to say. “Welcome to America.”