Fast Food Time Travel

Tonight, during a long layover in Los Angeles, California, I walked from my Hilton Hotel room to a Taco Bell restaurant. My stomach was growling as I crossed several large intersections and city blocks, moving along a familiar path of sidewalk. Grey clouds moved overhead amidst a blue sky, and a light wind whipped up around me. I carried a paperback novel underneath my armpit, wedged between my bicep and the side of my body. I passed Carl’s Jr., The Parking Spot, Denny’s, Thrifty Rent-A-Car, and Westin before arriving at my fast food destination. The walk took no longer than ten minutes.

I waited my turn in line and thought about what I wanted to eat. When the mustached man behind the counter said, “next,” I moved towards the cash register, smiled, and placed my order: one double-decker taco, one bean and cheese burrito, one soft taco, one tostada, and a small drink. While waiting for my receipt, I asked the mustached man how he was doing. Even though I didn’t get much of a response, I was glad that I asked. He handed me my receipt with my order number on it and said, “next.” I moved out of line and grabbed a stack of napkins, a spork, and a few mild-sauces at the condiment station. Then I filled my small cup with unsweetened iced-tea and found a corner table to sit at.

I was a few pages into my chapter when a young woman called, “order two-zero-seven.” I slid a bookmark in-between two pages to hold my spot and headed to the counter to retrieve a purple tray of food. My tacos and burritos were wrapped individually in thin, yellow-green and purple colored wax-paper. I returned to my corner table and started to eat, using my right hand to hold my food, and my left hand to hold open my book so that I could read. I stayed this way for quite some time, occasionally setting the book down to apply some mild-sauce or wipe my beard with a napkin. The book and food consumed every bit of my attention.

Ten or fifteen minutes must have passed before I noticed him. About four tables in front of me, he looked well into his sixties, with white hair and age spots on his cheeks. Like me, his purple tray was directly in front of him and he was using his right hand to eat, and his left hand to hold open his book so that he could read. That’s when I had an out of body experience. Suddenly, I was no longer sitting at a corner table, nor was I young and bearded. I had been transported across the room in some kind of momentary time travel.

My face became clean shaven, but more importantly, my skin was soft, wrinkled, and tired. I put down my burrito and rubbed the side of my face, feeling the change. I studied the cover of the book in my left hand, never having heard of the title or author before. But my old skin and the change of literature did not seem to bother me, nor did my new seating arrangement. In fact, I felt a sense of gladness to be so much older, with the years having passed by in a flash, if only for this reason: there I was, still reading and eating at the same time, perfectly pleased at being alone, even at a fast food restaurant in Inglewood, California—that was my first thought in the time travel from young to old.

My second thought as an old man was similar, and it was this subsequent thought that ultimately transported me back in time to being young and bearded, once again. Try and stay with me.

So there I was eating and reading, well into my sixties. My book and food had been consuming every bit of my attention for what must have been ten or fifteen minutes. That’s when I looked up and noticed him sitting at a corner table. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with a full beard and brown hair. Like me, his purple tray was directly in front of him and he was using his right hand to eat, and his left hand to hold open his book so that he could read. That’s when I had another out of body experience. Suddenly, I was no longer sitting at my table, nor was I old and wrinkled. I had been transported across the room in some kind of momentary time travel.

I put down my burrito and rubbed the side of my face, feeling the change. I kept rubbing my face, stroking the long whiskers above my lip, under my jaw, and around my cheeks. I felt a great sense of joy to be young again, to be me again, knowing that there was still so much time, if only for this reason: there seemed to be dozens of life-changing decisions waiting to be made, countless experiences within reach, and an immeasurable amount of road left to travel—all of this, right in front of me.

The old man and I looked at one another in real time and smiled. We were both alone and doing the exact same thing in a Taco Bell restaurant near LAX, and this connected something deep within me. Our burritos were in our right hands, and our books were in our left hands. You see, I was both young and old tonight, and I found wonder and perspective in the time travel.