"I'll have a medium Mr. Pibb." "OK you want a drink with that?"

Went out and got me some Del Taco tonight.
Always a medium to low quality, fairly priced quick option requiring no dishwashing, Del Taco once again delivered the goods.
And by "the goods" I mean the "good enoughs".
I pulled up to the "drive-thru" menu, which was named without the "ogh" in "through" because people who use drive-thrus are so pressed for time that they simply can't afford to spend the time typing or writing out those extra three letters.  It's saved lives.  While there, I had a few thoughts,
-Every time I go to Del Taco, I wonder "Of the taco?"  My basic spanish understanding has confused me yet again.  Anyone with more than cursory knowledge, please explain or confirm this poorly translated restaurant name.

-I don't think the people who ask if I want to try the mega beef cheese extreme macho large combo are listening when I respond, because they never respond to what I say back.  Sometimes it's odd because their voice drops an octave or two.  Either that or it's a recording.  Probably not a recording.

-What is the person in front of me ordering that takes 5 minutes?  They only get one bag of food...I don't understand why the Del Taco employees don't discuss politics or religion with ME.

-Really- what are they talking about??  Given the choice between being able to hear those incredibly long conversations, what baseball players talk about on the pitcher's mound, what NBA players say (swear) to each other at the free throw line, and what football players are saying during those giant piles of humanity (besides "get off me...ow!") I would probably pick the baseball one.  But I still really want to know what's going on in those long conversations at the drive thru window.

And then after ordering, paying, dropping whatever change I'm giving them out the window, deciding whether or not to unbuckle my seat belt and get out of the car and pick it up, I always have the greatest internal struggle a human can have: whether or not to check the contents of the bag right in front of the person who just handed it to me.  I'm pretty much saying "thank you for completing this business transaction with me, you seem like a very nice person, however, I either think you are dumber than a 3 year-old, or as untrustworthy as a 3-year old with a black top hat, handlebar mustache, and shiny black cape."

I usually feel bad and just drive off, and usually my trust in humankind/irrational fear of an awkward situation is rewarded with a perfect order- sometimes even an extra fry or two gets thrown in at the bottom of the bag!

But in the end, everyone wins.  Except the fruit and vegetable industry.  And my health.