PERRY: Wait, wait, do not make me – Aurora’s in-n-out hype tastes like double-double bother

Hundreds were lining up at the new In-N-Out restaurant in Aurora on Monday, November 23, 2020.
Photo by PHILIP B. POSTON / Sentinel Colorado

T.Rumpf is finally gone, a vaccine against the coronavirus pandemic is here and the days are noticeably longer.

Inhale, Aurora – just not deeply.

As almost always at this time of year, our bleak reality is exposed when the seasonal cold and darkness subsides.

Sure, it’s all good and better news that Trump has been exorcised by voters, Congress, Twitter, and even the trembling Senator Mitch McConnell. I am no longer able to blame Trump for the weather and the bleach marks on my t-shirts. In reality there are now other demons and ghosts to contend with.

I’m no longer the only person in Aurora curious to see if the In-N-Out phenomenon is worth the wait.

No, Virginia, it’s all a double-double-joke.

Since the thing opened for hour-long queues last summer, the California icon has been an intriguing side-effect of Cirque De Trumpe, watching the buggy-clad Corona DeVils battle with shop clerks for her god-given constitutional rights not to wear a mask in Walmart.

Curiosity got the best out of me this week when the cold spell hit and I saw what I thought were just a few cars waiting. The mirage of automatic queuing and skittles turned into 45 minutes of feeling like an idiot as I exacerbated the problem of climate change.

When you get to the end of the maze and are led by the off duty Aurora police and really nice kids in snappy nostalgic burger bar uniforms freezing their bums, you get fast food folks. Who knew?

If you thought school lunches were the bomb, you’ll love In-N-Out burgers. They have spongy white buns, yellow edible cheese, California winter tomatoes bursting with color and nothing else, onions I can still smell in my car, and the ubiquitous secret orange sauce the world loves to scrape off as much as it can.

The citizen? I’m pretty sure it was beef. After halfway through the regular cheeseburger, I realized I had been had. Like pretty much everything in California, the show’s trailer never does it justice. The only exception is Far Niente Cabernet and the Otters at Sea World. Do you want real Mexican food? It must be made with chillies from pueblo and beef from Karval.

Elsewhere in Aurora there is little to no waiting at NGL Burgers, Five Guys, Freddy’s, and Sam’s # 3. And you can get a respectable slopper at La Costa and Jesus Mexican Taqueria. Don’t make fun of the Menudo Burger, which is only available on weekends.

If you’re coming from the Highlands Ranch, or just can’t face another MRE, waiting for french fries in french fry form in fancy sacks is a great way to spend a couple of hours. However, once you’re from here you won’t be sitting in your car twice.

It wasn’t just the world’s best burger hype that I trudged through the horror thriller show AKA “Our Pandemic Lives” in the past 12 months. Why is there rubbish everywhere?

My wife, Melody, would like to point this out frequently and rather insensibly: “I could be naked and on fire and you wouldn’t notice most of the time.” But even I can’t help but see the virtual trail of trash on almost every street and freeway in the subway.

I’m not talking about the piles at the end of the exit ramps that a growing army of people begging for money leaves behind. Every day when I stink experts on the highway to the hundreds of motorists with license plates from everywhere, I had to dodge mattresses, a billion plastic bags, sawn timber, shoes, pillows, dishwasher doors and so on, a lot more, again and again wherever.

Aurora’s notorious canyons along Chambers Road and Sixth Avenue have virtual rubbish swaths along the corridors.

When we were recently driving north on Interstate 76 towards Brighton, a full-size bathtub was crouched by the inner middle barrier of Jersey, clearly fearing for its life as the stream of cars sped by.

I understand the pandemic all but ended crews of “volunteers” doing court-ordered community service by wandering the sides of our streets and highways and bagging our base trash. But if city, county, and state highway departments don’t go to Plan B, then Plan C will apparently send out plows to keep key routes clear and open.

Now that I know I’ll have to stay up after 7:30 p.m. to take my chance to get the best burger in the world and tell someone, anyone, about my trashy obsession, I can go back on the phone all day Kaiser to see if I passed vaccine recipient # 15.321 and if Costco has toilet paper today. I will miss the calming routines of pandemic life.

Follow @EditorDavePerry on Twitter and Facebook or reach him at 303-750-7555 or [email protected]

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