| rev:text
| - My trek to Whataburger was an artistic quest. I'd never heard of Whataburger before so I thought David Foster Wallace was making it up when he refers to the "Whataburger Southwest Junior Invitational" in Infinite Jest (the tennis tournament is made up). When I found out it was a real place, I had to come here.
It wasn't bad and kudos to the woman taking my order. She upsold me to a meal - "are you sure you don't want a meal, honey?" Her voice indicated that she was genuinely concerned about my general hunger situation which, admittedly, was extremely high at that very moment. Then there was the wait outside the take-out window, probably 10 - 15 minutes in total. I figured they must be assembling one king-hell burger in there. But more likely, it took that much time to fill the giant Whataburger cup with Fanta Orange soda. I let out an audible gasp when I saw it - holy crap it was big. Like I could have gone hiking in the desert for miles with nothing but that giant cup of soda to sustain me.
The burger was pretty big. Bigger than anything you'll find at any other fast food joint and don't forget the wait, I think the wait is key. Because that wait is what sets this place apart from say, a Mickey D's or an In-n-Out (which, incidentally, Whataburger is way better. Like the first time I ate an In-n-Out burger that's exactly what it did). So sitting outside waiting behind the big white SUV with the smokey exhaust you're inhaling for the ten minutes it takes for them to make their burger, plus the ten or so minutes it takes for them to cook your own and assemble your meal, fill the giant styrofoam Whataburger cup with Fanta Orange soda, and deep fry your peach pie (very tasty) lets you reflect on the state of your life in relationship to your expectation of wanting a fast food restaurant to act as an instant gratification machine, when, in fact, by going to those other places, you are perhaps missing out on all this personal attention to your burger, meal, soda, dessert assembly (and don't forget that caring moms-like voice so concerned for your hunger situation), in the space of which time you are allowed to reach out to loved ones via your cellphone or text-messaging system (I was able to call my husband twice and read a magazine article about hiking in Tempe), and think about what you want to do next w/r/t your art and just what the fuck are you doing with your life anyway that you think waiting outside the Whataburger for ten minutes is keeping you from actualizing some potential self that may be far better served by simply having to wait a moment for your food?
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)
![[cxml]](/fct/images/cxml_doc.png)
![[csv]](/fct/images/csv_doc.png)
![[text]](/fct/images/ntriples_doc.png)
![[turtle]](/fct/images/n3turtle_doc.png)
![[ld+json]](/fct/images/jsonld_doc.png)
![[rdf+json]](/fct/images/json_doc.png)
![[rdf+xml]](/fct/images/xml_doc.png)
![[atom+xml]](/fct/images/atom_doc.png)
![[html]](/fct/images/html_doc.png)