I Don't Need Life, I'm High on Fast Food!

Why is everyone judging me??

Artwork by @thekurgerbing

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“I’ll have a chicken sandwich with fries and a Dr. Pepper,” I say into the microphone box. I deliberate whether my order request was made at an appropriate volume, or if I reached a level of shouting that would raise some suspicions about my current mental state.

I recently got into meth, first as a casual hobby before it turned into a steady part of my morning routine. Right now, I believe I am what the kids on the internet call, “choomin.’” Everything up to my peripheries is a blur and my mind is operating at light speed. I inch toward the drive-thru window awaiting some greasy goodness, which I’m sure can’t be good for my heart rate right now. I am confident my eyes are dilated to the point where any passerby could stare into the void when they see my face.

The Burger King cashier pauses as she was mid-way to passing me my paper bag, her face sort of freezing between perplexity and morbid concern. I get that I’ve lost some skin complexion over the last few months, perhaps a concerning amount of weight as well. There’s no way I could be the most unhealthy-looking person she’s seen pass along a drive-thru in Orlando.

Unless… is it that obvious I’m high on meth? Will she narc on me? I can’t afford to lose my job. I c-…

“Sir, why is there an alligator in your passenger seat?”

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