Decisions, make one, or it will be made for you...

He’ll Have the Fries—Because Everyone’s Tired of Waiting (An ADHD story about menus, parents, and mild judgment)

Photo by Tonik on Unsplash

I remember sitting in a booth in the main dining room of the Nut Tree, our town’s nicer family restaurant. This was in the 1970s in Vacaville, a community off Highway 80 in Northern California. IYKYK. Moving on.

The restaurant had plenty of distractions; there were large, artistic-looking relief maps and important relief emblems of historic significance that marked the history of the area. The emblems were reminiscent of the kind you would see at a State Capitol building. Or if you grew up Catholic or ever spent time in a Catholic church, they reminded me of the stations of the cross and how those paintings or relief prints(we had the fancy relief carvings in our church) told the story of Jesus Christ leading up to his crucifixion. As a child looking at those, I always thought leaving the stations of the cross up all year was a bit dramatic and a reminder of the brutality of mankind and how we treat those who rock the boat and challenge our traditions, back to the Nut Tree and lighter times.

Those relief images of significant local and state historic events reminded me of the stations of the cross; that’s all I meant by that detour. And as much as I stared at the images of Jesus on his journey and daydreamed during mass, I did the same at those historical relief images in the Nut Tree. Not only did the Nut Tree have those distracting images to look at, but it also had an indoor aviary with colorful exotic birds. This was a large restaurant with at least a 15-20-foot-tall ceiling. It had a grand scale, so it felt spacious and important.

As a family, we’d be seated in the booth, all of us looking at the menu, which felt as significant as holding the Ten Commandments, like I’d seen Charlton Heston do in that movie.

Looking at the choices in the menu felt substantial. How could I choose just one ‘commandment’? They all looked important. What if I made the wrong choice? Would I be damed to hell and regret my decision? What did I choose last time?

I’m too hungry to make a well-informed decision. I could eat some bread with butter first before deciding what to eat. I heard my name. I looked up, and the waitress was looking at me. My parents and my younger sister were also looking at me. I was putting it all together. I had spent too much time looking at the Nut Tree’s version of the Stations of the Cross and not enough time looking at the menu. And now, they were waiting for me to decide.

“What did you all order?” I say. “Do you need more time to decide?” my mom said. “I can come back if you need more time.” The waitress said.

Feeling the pressure and the surge of anxiety and not wanting to be any more of a burden, “No, I’ll have…” quickly, I look at the menu, scanning and hoping the decision will jump off the page and tell me what to order. I can feel everyone’s eyes like lasers burning holes into my skin.

I panic and slowly say to stall for a miracle, a voice from God telling me what to order, “I will have the cheeseburger…please? “How would you like it?” the waitress says. No more decisions, I think to myself. Get me the cheeseburger before I change my mind.

“Ummmm…” I can never remember the difference between medium and medium rare. I like it with just a little pink in the middle. I want to sound like I know what I’m talking about. It feels like an eternity as I stare at the waitress. “He’ll have it medium,” says my Dad. “Is that with a little pink in the middle?” I say. “Yes,” says the waitress. I don’t know if I believe her.

“Okay,” I say. “Would you like fries, fruit, or salad with that?” she says.

I can’t make any more decisions. “He’ll have fries,” My mom says with a tone of impatience. “What kind of fruit?” I ask. After all, we live in Northern California and it’s Summer, and they could have fresh peaches, watermelon, and cantaloupe slices.

I can sense that everyone is about to lose their patience with me. I want to know what fruit they have; it could make all the difference, but only if it’s not soggy and it’s got the right texture. I think for a moment on how peaches can be too ripe and mealy, and the texture is disgusting, or too firm and has no flavor.

Or if the watermelon has been sitting cut up too long with the other fruit, and the water leaks out and sits there with all the different fruit, and it all looks as if it is in the early stages of decomposing. Gross. I won’t eat it.

While I was thinking about the fruit and the reality of what it could be like, I saw the waitress’s mouth move, and I think I heard her say “watermelon, grapes and cantaloupe.” I thought about how cantaloupe can taste moldy, and that ruins the flavor of the other fruit. “I’ll have the fries.”

Everyone looks kind of relieved and annoyed that this just happened. “One more question, what would you like to drink?” At this point, my nine-year-old self has enough self-awareness to realize that this process has put a strain on our family and the waitress. I don’t want to rock the boat and risk getting crucified like Jesus. “I’ll have a water, please.” As I hand her the menu. I look up at the relief images around the dining room and avoid the gaze of my parents, hoping I made the right decision.

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THE TAKEAWAY…

It took me decades to realize that the panic I felt over what to order wasn’t me being dramatic or indecisive; it was my brain running at full throttle, trying to keep everyone else happy while still figuring out what I actually wanted.

And yes, that same pressure-cooker decision loop still shows up today.

Not with waitresses and fruit cups, but with parenting choices, career pivots, even something as small as what to post, what to wear, or what to say next.

The context changes, but the wiring stays familiar.

SOLUTION…

Now, before I go to a restaurant, I look at the menu online and narrow it down to 2-3 choices, and make my final decision at the restaurant. This gives me time to savor the options.

I encourage my kids to do the same, as it helps to have more time to process a low-stakes decision.

YOUR TURN…

If you’ve ever spiraled over a “simple” decision and walked away feeling embarrassed, drained, or quietly ashamed, I hope this story helps you see it differently.

You weren’t broken. You were doing your best with an overwhelmed system. What’s your version of that restaurant booth moment—and what did it cost you… Or teach you?