It might have something to do with the way I order my food. Only I could have a panic attack while ordering a sandwich.
During a recent road trip I discovered I have MDTPTSD, Menu Dyslexia Triggered Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Twice, in a panic, I ordered the wrong thing. First at Subway. Then at McDonalds. I don't eat fast food much anymore so every time I step inside one of these places I feel like I'm entering a casino. I'm not one of those people who wants to take away your junk food or your gambling. It's just those things give me a headache so I avoid them personally. Since when did the human race decide life is better with more TV screens and digital signs flashing a constant barrage of ads at our collective cornea? Greasy chemical laden sugar goo information overload is what it feels like to me. Belch.
It didn't help that I was hungover from too much wine the night before at our friends' reception and even more later in the hotel room with friends. That fog wasn't helping my brain function at optimum speed. I stood in front of the Subway menu. Staring at it, baffled, unable to comprehend it. These workers keep asking me questions and I don't see the list of my options on the menu. I just see advertisements - high def photos of glistening sandwiches and chips and drinks. What kind of bread do I want? I don't know. What are my options? Where's the list?
Here's my Andy Rooney moment: I remember when I was a kid you had to have literary skills to order at a restaurant. I was so thrilled when I could read "cheeseburger" and "french fries" and "coke" off the menu. Even if it's the same thing I ordered every time and should have had it memorized. I enjoyed reading down the list, "tenderloin," "breaded fried chicken sandwich," and, "Tab" before picking what I wanted.
Now when I pass the threshold of any fast food joint, I long for the simpler menu days of yore. Lists, not advertisements. I don't care how you ad wizards want me to feel about a sandwich. I want to critically assess the list of options and conclude for myself what I desire. No suggestions. Just facts, thank you.
Yet another area where my control freakishness gets extra freaky.
For such an opinionated broad I'm completely indecisive, decisively indecisive, when it comes to the most trivial matters. What kind of bread do I want? My brain shuts down with a question like that. It's like when I see a footlong Facebook comment from radically conservative political friends who don't know how to type in paragraph and give their audience's eyes a break.
I deserve a break. Just list the items you offer. Then, I can choose from them in a calm, mannerly way. Trust me, you'll satisfy more customers with me moving the line along than you do now, with your indecipherable menu board that renders me basically mute, mouth hanging open like an idiot, unless I somehow find a way to ask the all important question of whether or not you have only iceberg lettuce and whether or not it's locally grown.