In Defense Of Sonic
by Punk Wiffler
My dearest Orlando Manimal,
Good day to you sir! Few things have invoked the storm of fury that raged in my head after careful analysis of your baseless critique of Sonic, entitled, Go To Hell Sonic. After great consideration, I have concluded that trying to find a coherent, logical thought in your collection of words would be about as likely as finding a white guy in Compton. Nevertheless, I will try to respond to your inane, venomous rant.
You take issue with the punching sound heard as the text appears on the television at the end of their advertisements. Edgy? Extreme? Perhaps you misunderstand their intentions. Rather than riding the current "extreme" advertising trend, Sonic's punch is closer to the bells of a cathedral, begging you to rejoice. Why, you ask?
Because Sonic's orgiastic feast of menu delights is here to free you from the chains of tasteless burgers, sub-par french fries, and generic soft drinks. This punch not only pulls you out of the matrix that is McDonalds, it also tells you, "I know kung fu."
So you have an issue with realistic scenarios, where people sit in their cars eating an establishment's food, and discuss it with each other? Picture the last Wendy's/McDonalds/Burger King commercial you saw. When was the last time you walked in to one of those establishments and saw a veritable United Nations in front of you? All at one table? The mid-thirties, well dressed white guy with his angelic wife… The early twenties African-American, with his westernized Asian girlfriend… This is simply a contrived vision of modern Americans, gathering around the altar of caloric gluttony.
Indulge me for a moment while I regale you with a story of my first trip to Sonic. I too, was captivated by their progressive advertising. When I arrived to the temple of culinary mastery I was not let down. I was greeted by the epitome of female southern charm through the intercom. Sure her education was clearly lacking, and probably her dental hygiene as well, but this young woman taught me one thing: This wasn't her boss's Sonic, or even her Sonic. This was our Sonic. Together, we shared this realized dream.
Ordering off of the menu was extremely frustrating. When offered all of the treasures of the world, how do you choose just one? Regardless, my party placed our order, and we sat back in our car and observed the promised land that is Sonic.
To our left we saw a modern American classic: The 1989 Chevrolet Caprice, complete with oversized chrome rims, tinted windows, and decals on the window; old English font, spelling out a phrase in Spanish that I could not decipher, yet its cultural charm was not lost on me. The car was filled with a handful of strapping young Hispanic gentleman, all arrayed in matching jeans, with white muscle shirts on their chests, and black doo-rags on their heads. As their car rattled to the latest reggaeton hit, my eyes scanned further around the parking lot.
Nearby I watched an average, middle aged, balding, white man rush his six-year-old daughter away from the aforementioned Latin friends, and into their minivan, whose doors locked with a resounding click. Ahhh… racial fear… an American emotion if there ever was one.
My cultural observations were broken however, as our food was ready. Unfortunately this is where the retelling of my experience ends, as it would simply be doing Sonic a disservice if I tried to describe their cuisine. I will say that I was scared to take a last sip of my cranberry freeze (oh what's that McDonalds? You don't offer those? Surprise, surprise.) and risk washing the taste of that magnificent food out of my mouth.
In response to your juvenile complaints that there are no Sonics near you, I offer you this: If there was a Grand Canyon in every state, would it still be so grand? If Niagara Falls' were located across New England, would millions still flock to the original to stand in front of it, enthralled by its majesty? If Christmas was everyday, would we still appreciate its wonder? Such is Sonic. Don't fault Sonic for wanting to make the world aware of their quest to satisfy the hunger in our souls.
Instead of cursing Sonic, praise it. Instead of shunning Sonic, embrace it. You may not realize it yet, but there is a void in your heart that gently weeps, softly crying out, "Sonic… Sonic… I will wait a lifetime if that is what it takes."
Mr. Manimal, listen to your heart. Embark on your pilgrimage to Sonic, and find that love that you never thought you were capable of. Just watch out for the Latin Kings in the parking lot.
One Sonic, one love…
Punk Wiffler
(Ed. Note: I have since been to Sonic in Missouri and admit that I was wholeheartedly in the wrong. I absolutely loved it and I promise there will be an article about it in the near future.)
