I love Sonic.
Ever since I was a kid.
It was a big deal in the summertime to go to the drive-in on Kemp Street and watch the servers skate out to your car, stopping on a dime without spilling your drink.
Back then Sonic also made swirl cones, with chocolate and vanilla soft-serve ice cream mixed together.
I loved those.
As much as I hate to admit it, I like their corndogs, too. Nothin’ like a wiener dipped in corn meal fried to a golden brown.
It’s a wonder they don’t serve Spam on a stick.
Don’t worry, I wouldn’t eat Spam.
But a foot-long chili cheese coney is heaven in a foil pouch. I had my first in the fifth grade and spilled it all over myself in the backseat of the car.
And where, besides Sonic or any school cafeteria, can you find crunchy, greasy tater tots?
There’s just something about going to a drive-in. Especially as the weather gets warmer – when it’s still cool enough that you can roll the windows down and turn the car off and just sit there and wait on your order. Without ever having to get out of the car.
I don’t know why it’s still such a treat to me, but it is.
Maybe it’s because of the ice. Or the fact that I can choose from 398,929 drink combinations, even though I usually order the same thing.
Vanilla Diet Dr. Pepper. Easy ice.
When it’s really hot outside, though, I may go for a fresh lime slush. Or watermelon.
And just in case you didn’t know already, don’t drink anything with blue coconut in it if you’re going to be up in front of people.
I made that mistake. Once.
Maybe I like to go because it’s familiar. I know what to expect.
Maybe I just like to remember all the times I’ve been there before. And the people who went with me.
Or maybe I’m just too lazy to get out of my car.