The Fast-Food Philosopher

Asshat of the Day: The Fast-Food Philosopher

Fifteen Minutes in Line, Zero Decisions Made.

Case Study:

It’s lunchtime. You’ve got forty-five minutes left before you have to clock back in. You’ve made the questionable life choice of hitting the burger joint up the street because you’re craving something that feels like grace wrapped in a bun.

The drive-thru line is wrapped around the building, so you decide to park and go inside. You walk in and find a line that snakes through the lobby—it’s five people deep at every register. You wait. Patiently. Like a grown adult with bills and places to be. The guy in front of you? Hoodie. iPhone in hand. Not a child, not senile—just... there.

Fifteen minutes later, he reaches the counter. The cashier smiles, ready to work some efficiency magic, and he hits her with the words no lunch crowd deserves to hear:

“Hmmmm… what do I want?”

A collective internal scream ripples through the crowd. The cashier—an angel in polyester—waits, smiling. He waffles between the spicy and the regular, debates waffle fries versus fruit cup, then suddenly remembers: “Hold up, my wife might want something.”

He calls her.
On speaker.
Volume at full concert level.

He squints at the menu he’s been standing under since the Eisenhower administration, then decides to call his wife—on speaker.

“Babe, hey, they got spicy chicken. You want spicy chicken?”

Static. Confusion. A full debate about sauce preferences ensues while ten hungry adults contemplate homicide. The line exhales in unison. A woman behind you whispers a prayer for restraint. The cashier blinks twice, questioning every life choice that led her here.

By the time this man completes his hero’s journey—placing his order and shuffling aside—you’re already ten minutes late. You rush back to the office to inhale your cold sandwich at your desk and spend the rest of the afternoon wondering if karma even shows up for work anymore—while your boss spends the rest of the afternoon giving you side-eye because you’re late returning from lunch for the third time this week. As you brush the crumbs from your lap, you return to your work wondering why Darwin hasn’t updated his theory.

Diagnosis: Chronic indecision with situational obliviousness.
Recommended Treatment: Prescribe active awareness of other humans. Restrict phone privileges during public transactions. Exposure therapy via DMV queue. One mirror. Repeated use.
Moral: When you’ve been standing in line long enough to memorize the entire menu, it’s not the universe that’s slow—it’s you.