I go to McDonald’s drive thru once a week for two Sausage Biscuits, one of which is shared with Jazz the dog. In peak times both lanes are in use, with a line of cars. Each driver, from vans to pick-ups to SUV to the smallest of small, make our way to order, to the pay window, and then on to pick-up window for our warm McDonald’s bag. There is no security directing traffic, no hand-out written protocol of how we drivers decide, seemly so easily, who goes next, how two lanes of cars become one.

We drivers are young, not young, of all colors, race, and language. Most on us on our phones, one or more drivers needing a short honk to move forward. We each, all of us, have to be somewhere else. Schools, offices, meeting a friend, or with Beth, I, and Jazz, in cooler weather, watching dogs at the dog park.

McDonald’s drive thru proves that at some level we people, all kinds of us, can get along, work it out, being treated and treating the teens who run our world with kindness and “Have a blessed day.” At McDonald’s drive thru, the world works.

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