The magic behind the drive-thru

I am convinced that whoever invented the drive-thru was Japanese. For those of you who have never worked in the fast food industry, let me explain. When you type in the order it pops up in the right panel. This would be fine if when the next order came in the first order would move one panel closer to the left. However, since Japanese read from right to left, and a Japanese invented the drive-thru the most logical conclusion that can be drawn dear readers, is that what one thinks is not true. Instead, the first order stays in the rightmost panel, the second in the 3rd panel from the left, the third in the second panel from the left, etc. In essance, one reads the orders from right to left. Very confusing, especially for someone who was almost literally thrown into the drive-thru position. (That's what she said.) While Henry Ford invented the assembly line, the Japanese perfected it. (Nevermind the Toyota debocle.) Next you have to press a whole bunch of buttons that you eventually memorize and it's transmitted to a screen where hopefully someone is around to help you prepare the food. By the time the person hasa driven up to your window of enchantment the food has magically appeared behind you. You make change, hand them their food, wish them a good day and the car, faulty brakes and all, I mean the customer gets their food.

Big Brother is Watching

Right now, I feel watched. Winston Smith would know how I feel. Imagine if you can, if you dare, some part of your past constantly coming back to annoy you. No, not haunt. It's not some terrible and dark aspect of your past coming back to haunt you, but rather a part of your life that doesn't mean what it once did. A part of your life that you've outgrown. You don't hate it, but you certainly don't want to revisit that part of your life for too long or too often.

This past won't leave me alone. Every year or so it comes back like a boomerang and no matter how I tell it to go away, it doesn't seem to comprehend. Winston, they are all around me. They follow me; I'm too dangerous for them to let me live, but it's too risky for them to try and kill me. Every precaution I take has been thwarted; every barrier has been infiltrated. The last safe place is destroyed. Even this note is a big risk that could cost me my life.

Even now I see his face; a face that has been tainted by his own actions. If he had left well enough alone I wouldn't despise that face. His voice echos in the silence of my own mind. In that voice I hear the lies and manipulation; I hear the begging and veiled threats, the immaturity. I hear what I once thought was love but I know better now. He was obsessed and still won't let me go.

That obsession follows and haunts me; it comes back through the years. Winston are you still there? Did you ever notice that 'haunting' and 'hunting' are only one letter apart?