Even in our increasingly homogenized world, there’s still a place for the quasi-local chain restaurant. Whenever you visit a town far away, do you get excited about meeting new people, having new experiences, seeing new sights? No. You want to eat at their Whataburger. You’ve heard so much about it from your other world-traveller friends.
Every time I go somewhere, I make sure to try all of their novel chain restaurants. I get a lot of food poisoning on the road, sure, but it’s all worth it in order to study the unique cultural contribution that these humble small businesses provide. These onion rings are slightly crispier. They throw a little garlic salt in your bag of fries here. This one forces you to look into the eyes of one of the employees while you eat, as they try to intimidate you into leaving your meal uneaten. Such diversity!
Of course, the experience goes both ways. Many people are unable to leave their home towns, and are forced to rely on the tales of those travelling through to learn about the greater world. When these poor folks find out that I’m not from around there, they ask me to tell them stories of my local restaurants. O'Shaughnessy’s, I tell a rapt audience of Culver’s patrons, puts a slightly spicier ketchup on their Irish Pounder than this one. They gasp. Tonight, I eat for free.
One day, we’ll be travelling to shitty chain restaurants on the moon. Just imagine how weird the hot dog buns will be up there! Maybe they’ll have those super skinny fries that I like that nobody here makes anymore. I only hope I can live long enough to see such a glorious future. My doctor says if I stop driving thousands of miles a week in order to eat disgusting fast food, I’ll probably get to see the first moon Burger King.
“Burger King?” I spit in his face, before toppling a cup of tongue depressors to the ground. “I recognize no such so-called royalty.”