It's 8:30 p.m. The kids are in bed, and I'm craving Burger King onion rings. I'm wearing my fuzzy pajamas and slippers, so I'll just go through the drive-thru. I pull into Burger King, roll down my window to order, and notice...a cardboard sign taped to the intercom: "Drive thru broken. Come inside." I have just enough of a speck of self-respect left to prevent me from walking into Burger King in my pajamas and slippers.
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