How Thoreau of Me

I like my life simple.

If possible, I’d like it to be simpler.

I’m a simple guy.

Simple life, simple mind. Ahh, simple. I'd go to the woods to live deliberately, but the woods don't have Kim Possible, and I'll admit that I'm hooked.

For example: I drive an automatic. Not because I don’t know how to drive a stick; I do. But I’m not only comfortable with my masculinity to let my gears be shifted for me, but if someone else is doing the shifting, that logically means that I don’t have to.It’s also one less thing to worry about when people are trying to run you off the roads.

Also, I own a DVD player. Not because it’s cutting edge technology, but because when the movie is done, I don’t have anything to rewind. I hit eject, the disk comes out, I put it back where it belongs. I also don’t have to buy acres and acres of storage for my movies, nor do I have to worry about my movies wearing out as they do with magnetic tape.

DVDs are simple.

Rob is simple.

Up until a few months ago, I also liked drive-up windows. I can select from any of my various favorite fast-food solicitors, and without getting out of my car, make the exchange of funds for goods and services with a smile.

See how simple that is?

But not any more. Apparently there is a conspiracy out there that seeks, only, to make my life more complex. Now, as I pull up to a drive-through window, someone comes on and offers me a crunchy-soft-taco-super-sized-original-and-extra-crispy-with-cole-slaw-mashed-potatoes-and-mexi-fies for only $12.95.

What the hell?

All I want is, well pretty much, just one food item duplicated once or twice. I don’t drink most offered beverages because, well, water is simpler. If I wanted fries with that, I would have said, “. . . and I’ll have some fries with that" thus making the service-professional's life as simple as mine. And if I wanted the latest-and-greatest-now-taking-Europe-by-storm-only-for-a-limited-time-at-participating-stores food offering, wouldn’t I have pulled up and asked for that without you having to tell me?

After all, I watch T.V., I know what’s new and exciting.

Watching T.V. is pretty damn simple and commercials are geared to the epitome of simplicity.

They tell me what I want (their product), when I want it (two minutes ago) and why I want it (it will make me younger and get me more sex).

Taco Bell now makes the claim, “We just couldn’t leave well enough alone,” as if this was some kind of bragging right. If I was a more complex man I’d shout back, “Why, for the love of God and all that’s good and holy, why couldn’t you just leave it alone? It was pure, it was simple, it was happy. Why? Why? As God is my witness, I’ll never go hungry again.”

Sometimes I get a bit carried away.

It’s like I’m gone . . . with the wind.

You might be saying, “Well, Rob, what are you going to do? It’s an advertising scheme meant to suck more hard earned dollars right out of pockets of coal miners like you.”

Oh, no, little voice inside my Kleenex box, not so!

My mother raised me to be polite, to say “Please” and “Thank you” and “Pass the damn potatoes before I leap across this table and sink my canines into your jugular.” That last, according to mom, should only be used at Thanksgiving and, only after everyone has had at least one helping.

But, as we’ve already demonstrated above, as polite as I am, I’m also rather simple; despite my use of the compound-complex sentence structure above, and a semi-colon to boot.

As I pull up to the drive-through, I now ignore whatever the attendant says until I hear them shouting, “HELLO!? ARE YOU THERE? PLEASE ORDER OR PULL THROUGH AS YOU’RE HOLDING UP THE LINE!” Only then do I make my order. I also ignore completely any instruction on when, when and how to pay. I’ve crumpled up dollar bills with various random coins, some Canadian, and I pull immediately to the window where I know that my food will be delivered to me. When asked for my money, and it’s plainly obvious no food is waiting, I simply say, “No ticky, no laundry!” and return my window to the up position.

After all, when you go out to eat at a restaurant, you don’t order, pay then get your food served. Most places figure that you’re honest enough to not hold your stomach hostage.

When my food is finally delivered (and if the cops haven’t been called by this point) I roll down my window just enough for them to slide, rolled up, the bag. I then throw one or two my crumpled bills through the window and pull away. I figure it will all work out in the wash at some point.Some of my bills are $5’s.

See, simple.