Eternal Rest Stop

The older I get, the less interested I am in standing in line just because there’s a line for something. I thought of this over the holidays when we stopped at a rest stop on the Pennsylvania Turnpike in Somerset on our way back from Ohio. Given that it was a Sunday afternoon of a busy travel weekend, I should not have been surprised that it was packed, but I was annoyed.

Our son wanted Popeye’s so I stood in line with him. I don’t mind waiting for him but if it had been me, I would have left without eating and either found somewhere off the turnpike to eat or gone hungry until we got home. We waited for quite some time just to order at one of those kiosks that are at fast food restaurants now. (It seems like the kiosks are solving a problem that didn’t exist because they’re not always more efficient than ordering from a person. If I just want an order of fries, it’s much quicker to just order at the counter and pay, rather than click through a bunch of screens and keep confirming my order.)

Anyway, it took awhile just to get his food. (It was worse than standing in line at Boscov’s, which is a fine store but where time screeches to a halt. I could restructure the store’s debt in the time it takes for the cashier to 1) suddenly have it dawn on her that she needs a bag for my purchase and 2) find said bag in her apparently enormous register.) Steve just got something from the convenience store. I just got Reese’s peanut butter cups, since it was quick and I wanted to get out of there and get home. I was already annoyed by the wait and of course, I then unwrapped the Reese’s and found out somebody had already smashed my candy bar. GRRRRR.

So I’m not waiting in line just because everyone else does. I wasn’t about to wait in line at the rest stop for one of Auntie Anne’s deeply misguided “soft pretzels” and I sure as shit wasn’t about to spend any time waiting for Sbarro’s. A line does not make anything more exciting for me and I’ve never been one to wait for a hot night spot or restaurant or anything like that. God, who cares? I’d rather opt for something less crowded; I’m sure that restaurant that’s only semi-sardine packed is just as good.

An hour—literally 60 minutes—after walking into the rest stop for a quick bite, we were on our way. We could have just left the turnpike and found a diner and not been annoyed in that same amount of time.