PUSHING THE ENVELOPE AT ARBY’S [M, 5-22-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter--PUSHING THE ENVELOPE AT ARBY’S [M, 5-22-23]

 

Arby’s graciously sent us some coupons in the mail, offering us a 2 for $7 sandwich deal. Helen figured that was better than having me cook again, so we tooled over there. But only after she went with me to Dick’s Sporting Goods to make sure I bought a pair of new running shoes, which in my case are walking shoes.

She went to the earring store across the mall hall, and I examined shoes. I found some I liked, and looked around wistfully, appearing to be, I hoped, an old man who needed help and was willing to spend money, but the three clerks were busy talking to one another and didn’t notice me. Well, I had done my best.

Helen didn’t think so. When I explained the situation to her, she grabbed a clerk by the nose and dragged him over to me, where he promptly, after scanning my selection with his “device,” proclaimed that they did not have my size, but it was quite simple to take a few hours and order a pair online right then and there. He even helped me take a photo of the transaction on his computer screen, so that I would have a receipt, which was a new experience for me. So, let no one say I’m not willing to push the envelope!

[I looked that up to see why people say “pushing the envelope” when they mean acting dangerously. Has to do with the “envelope of time” when it’s safe to launch a rocket.]

But back to the main point—Arby’s.

We’ve been to Arby’s in other places, but never here, here in Bloomington. We were surprised. We were the only people there. Not even employees. Well, that wasn’t quite true. After standing at the counter for a while, a jolly young woman appeared and was willing to give us food. We showed her our coupon, and she asked us for a name to call out when our sandwiches were ready. I looked around. We were the only people in the place.

I told her my name was Ambrose. I always say that in those sorts of name-calling restaurants. She looked quizzically at Helen; people do that a lot. Helen told her my name is John. I explained to her that John is such a common name in my generation that if they call out “John,” every old man in the place gets up and tries to get my food. But there is never another Ambrose.

Helen said, “You’re holding things up.” I looked behind me. An open-faced middle-aged man had come in and was standing in line, if you can call one person a line.

Helen said to him, “Your name isn’t John, is it?”

“John Ambrose,” he said. Everybody wants to be a comedian.

When our sandwiches were ready and the girl called out “Ambrose,” he tried to get my food.

A shoe store and a fast-food restaurant is plenty enough for us in one day. We took our food home, where we can eat without pushing the envelope.

John Robert McFarland