A Burger For What Ails You

Yesterday I needed something.  I did not know what.  I just knew I needed something.  A break.  Encouragement.  A little variety.  I was discouraged.  I was tired.  And I wanted to go home to my couch and my cat. 

I read through my e-mails.  There, in my inbox, was the answer.  The Seattle Times wanted me to know that I could have a hamburger (or cheeseburger) for $.19.  If it had been any old burger, I might have passed.  But it was a Dick’s burger.

I have discussed Dick’s before.  I am a fan.  So are billionaires and musicians.  It is a local perk and it works for me.  I frequent them, darn it.  And if I can snag one for $.19?  Well, okay then.

Walking would have made more sense.  I work less than half a mile from my branch.  But no.  I decided to drive.  “It will be on the way home,” I told myself.  I thought, “It is a Thursday night.  Not a Friday.  No Kraken games.  Everything will be fine.”

Then I tried to find parking.  Using their lot soon proved to be out of the question.  I drove around the block and found a metered spot. 

Did I feed the meter?  Nope.  “How long could it take?”  Heh.  Silly Cosand.  And no, it is not lost on me that I risked a $44 ticket in order to save $2.50 on a burger.  I know the math is not in my favor.  What can I say, sometimes you need to be illogical.

As I walked up to the building, I saw that the company’s advertising campaign had paid off.  Funny how word of mouth spreads when it comes to spending less than a quarter.  Who am I kidding?  We all knew one burger would not do.  We all bought a milkshake or fries or another burger.  We knew, and Dick’s knew, that they would get a boost in business.

Sounds fine to me.  They pay their workers well.  Their burgers are tasty.  They are local.  If I can get two burgers and a milkshake for $7.21?  Show a little affection to a neighborhood institution?  Then I am in.

I looked around and saw that the majority of people around me were twenty-somethings.  It makes sense.  They catch the tweets and the notifications.  They are not rich.  Why would they miss out?

I noticed another thing.  I looked at the lines.  I looked at the people around the sides of the building, munching as they rested on the counters.  I stood behind a guy who was being affectionate with his girlfriend. 

As silly as it might feel to say it, I felt a part of something. 

There I was, just one more guy getting a burger for $.19.  Like everyone else around me.  A guy who wanted quality food for a ridiculous price. 

(Though, honestly, I am glad it was not the same night as a Kraken game.  That place would have been full.)

It was one little blip on the calendar that would add to a pile of memories.  I have run across the Viaduct before it closed.  I have climbed up all the stairs of the Space Needle.  I was there when Pacific Science Center was declared a national landmark.  I have watched with others as a rainbow visited the Seattle skyline and I have seen The Dark Knight on the biggest indoor screen in the state.  For all the things I like to do alone, I feel like part of a community when I do things with others.

I stood for fifteen minutes in line, not minding being surrounded by happy people.  I drove home, moving in the mass of cars that made up commuter traffic.  Then, finally, I had my quiet night with my cat and couch.

Judging by the way she attacked the brown bag, Nala would have liked her own burger.  Maybe next time.