Picture this: My friend and I, parched and desperate for some hydration, pull into a Sonic stall. I’m in my car because, well, I’m crippled (don’t worry, I still have an excellent sense of humor about it). I can’t get out to go inside, so I do what any rational person would do: press the red button. Simple, right?
First press: Silence. Not even a sigh from the speaker.
Second press: "Just give me two seconds." I hear you, buddy. But I know you’re not getting a Nobel Prize for timing anytime soon.
At this point, I’m basically writing a letter to my future self about what a great choice I made. We waited. And waited. And waited. It felt like the plot of a really bad mystery movie. What was going to happen? Would we ever get our drinks? Is the button actually a portal to an alternate dimension where time works differently? Who’s to say?
The minutes pass like hours, and now I’m contemplating life. I think I saw the shadow of a bird fly by—was that a sign? Is the universe trying to tell me something? I’m not sure. But I know one thing: It’s been 20 minutes. I’ve stared down this red button more times than I care to admit. It’s like the world’s longest staring contest with a piece of plastic.
Then, the voice finally comes back on the intercom: “Just give me a second.” AT THIS POINT, I’M WONDERING IF HE’S A TIME TRAVELER WHO'S OUTRUNNING MY ORDER.
At 20 minutes, I gave up. We left. With no drink. No answer. Just a deeper understanding of the nature of patience—and an undying thirst. So, to whoever was in that stall: If you need a break, I get it. But please, next time, remember the actualmission is to serve me a drink, not make me experience the existential dread of Sonic's customer service.
Moral of the story? Maybe Sonic is fast in some alternate dimension. But in this one? You’re better off waiting for a miracle. Or a soda.