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213. Drive-Through Window

Rainey Knudson
5 hours ago
2 min read

Convenience is the water we swim in. We don’t question it; we don’t even notice it. To make every aspect of life faster, smoother, easier—how could that not be a virtue?

 

And yet we are lonely. The last hundred years have seen a series of changes that seem unrelated, but all had the effect of limiting our unexpected interactions with strangers: the focus of our homes shifting from the front porch to the enclosed backyard, the automobile becoming a cocoon we never had to leave. Now the delivery economy.

 

Forget the drive-through window; consider the anonymous delivery service—you don’t even see the human being who leaves food at your door and texts you a picture. Compared to that, the drive-through window, with its brief interaction and exchange—possibly, accidentally, even human touch—is downright social. Now the concern isn’t getting out of the car, it’s getting out of the house at all.

 

It takes effort, reminding ourselves to resist flowing along in the current. But we can do whatever we want. It’s easy to forget how free we are: free to choose friction, to be reminded through the overheard conversation, the joke with the cashier, the small, unexpected kindness, that the world is populated. To choose the hassle and inconvenience, the possible disappointment or discomfort, of each other, when we miss each other so.



Special thanks to Lynda Crist, who suggested the drive-in, which led to the drive-though.



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This post is part of The American 250, a series featuring 250 objects made by Americans, located in America, in honor of the country's 250th anniversary. 250 words on 250 works, from January 1 to December 31, 2026.


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