I had a very cathartic experience at the In-and-Out drive-thru last week.

On any average day, I avoid all ‘fast-food’ restaurants. I’d like to say it is about the chemicals, not-well-handled food, sloppy construction and overall health concerns, but it has nothing to do with that.

Last Sunday I was driving my girlfriend and I home from a weekend away in Tuscon, Arizona. The road was lulling me to sleep, so we pulled off of I-10 at the southern outskirts of Phoenix to switch positions.

“Oh! Look! I’m going to get some In-and-Out.”

“Ok, sure.”

Oh no…

She was now in charge and the car was moving towards one of my nightmares. I sat helplessly in the passenger seat.

I filled up with judgment. It pushed its way into every corner of my being. I imagine the balloons being filled forcefully from the helium tank at the dollar store feel similar…or would if they had a nervous system.

“Do you want some?”

“I don’t know if I can…”

“You know they use fresh, never-frozen beef with no fillers, preservatives or additives? It’s better beef than a lot of burger places use.”

I was cringing and tightening in on my helium balloon. I didn’t want to feel the judgment. With her words, some of the pressure lessened but suspiciousness took its place.

I pushed the balloon around a little inside me to see if there was any space to let it go, but it bumped firmly on a wall and went no further. I was trying to keep something else — something demonic from the depths I dared not explore — inside.

We pulled up to the line and a young man stood in his pressed, starchy white short-sleeved button down, red apron on top. His dark, tightly curled hair stood out from under his white paper boat-shaped hat, holding it up with confidence.

In contrast, I burrowed, sweating and shrinking away from him deep into the passenger seat. While Kaiya ordered, I felt myself averting my eyes. I had completely abandoned the usual routine of feigning some physical discomfort or visual disturbance from the brightness of the sun. This was bad.

“Ok, thanks, you can pay at the next window.”

The moment was slipping away. I wanted to be a part of this. My insides tugged down on the balloon. My shoulders sank, locking me in harder. But at the last moment —

“Wait!”

I sheepishly looked at the menu, as if acting ashamed would pardon me from the sin I was about to perform. I remember being a tag-along middle-schooler and pretending not to understand the menu at Starbucks to save myself from the shame of that sin.

If I act like I don’t know anything, no one will think I go here.

Under someone else’s insistence, I was ‘saved’.

But there was no saving me from the confident young man in his little boat hat.

I ordered half in middle school style and half like a 35 year old woman. On the positive side, I didn’t cringe because ‘hamburger’ was a normal word that everyone used and so was ‘fries’. I would have died if I had to say “double-double” like Kaiya did.

As the car slowly rolled forward, I caught a glimpse of the monster that wall had been keeping at bay.

“I’m just so ashamed of eating this kind of thing. And I think the judgment comes out as a way to hide the shame, or to keep me away from the thing-that-brings-shame.“

I cried, harder than I had in a while. I cried for the entire slow procession consisting of other ‘sinners’ to the window where we would pay to feel shame.

“That’s garbage.”

“Don’t eat that crap.”

“Disgusting pigs eating that stuff.”

“I bet that stuff gives you cancer.”

Words, disapproving looks, a general stream of unsolicited opinions from the past flooded into my head. It all had an impact.

When we got our food, I felt sick with disgust. I was disgusting, not I was doing something disgusting — and that’s where the problem lay.

I like to imagine the comedy the lady at the window may have found, if she was looking to see us: Kaiya, a well-adjusted adult smiling and excited to see the food, and me, shrinking into the gap between the seat and the door looking at the food with wide eyes, tears and fear. What a pair.

We pulled into a spot to eat. I sat piggy-backed and crushed by my shame Orc staring at the burger and fries waiting for him to let off my windpipe so I could try to take a bite.

I watched Kaiya eat with the same confidence the young man with the boat hat had. Almost like it was normal to do so.

“Yours looks better.”

I couldn’t order what I really wanted. That would be even more of a sin if I actually got what I desired. Getting something but not quite what I wanted was more non-committal — like pretending to not understand the menu. It was a lateral step, admittedly.

Kaiya reached her burger towards me. My eyes converged as it came closer and when it was within the forward range and reach that my cervical spine would allow, the tears burst forward again.

“I can’t do it yet. Too much shame. And now there’s more because you’re feeding me.”

She saved me the last bite. I picked it up with my own two fingers and let it hover near my mouth, eyes at max convergence to make sure it didn’t get any ideas of attack. I cried again.

After about 20 minutes of driving, I finally popped the little bite in my mouth. The shame had subsided enough and the tears had stopped. The flavor was immediately familiar and so was the pain I felt in my throat. Something from many, many years ago that I couldn’t quite place. Within 30 seconds, the pain vanished — something was letting go.

I felt happy to eat it. It tasted good. And unsurprisingly, when it was done, I wanted what I had actually wanted (a double) and it felt safe enough to want it and just barely safe enough to pursue it.

“I’m still hungry. I want another.”

And there it appeared: another In-and-Out.

We pulled off, I ordered more, and we all lived happily ever after.

THE END.