What’s It All About, Chiara?

I am really tired today. I had another busy weekend and then this week is crazy and so on and so forth. So today I’m just going to tell you a little story about this one time at In N Out .

This would be the In N Out on Foothill Boulevard in Upland, California, for all the 5C alums reading. You know the one. I have spent a good portion of my adult driving life going up and down Foothill. I think at least ten thousand of my car’s miles are on that street. Like much of the Inland Empire Valley, where I spent several formative years in the mid to late nineties, Foothill consists almost entirely of Edwards theaters, strip malls, and sketchy apartment buildings, with, of course, a matched set of small private liberal arts colleges thrown into the mix. Also there is a mountain (on non-smog days ) over there to your left. Drive up Foothill to Albertsons. Drive back down Foothill to work. Drive up Foothill to the Jiffy Lube. Drive down Foothill to El Pavo. Drive up Foothill to the mall. Drive down Foothill to Anna and Rob’s apartment. That pretty well describes my first two post-college years, geographically.

So one day during lunch at my job where I had the credit card and the office with the door that closed, I drove up Foothill to the In N Out in my business casual and ordered up a delicious cheeseburger and fries. I haven’t read Fast Food Nation (I know, Sundry, me neither) but I hear that In N Out is the only fast food that gets the Fast Food Nation We’re All Going To Die Seal of Approval, and I completely support that endorsement, if indeed it’s true. In N Out, though I haven’t eaten it for several years, is truly fine in every way. I especially recommend the fries, which are all that fries should be. I also recommend that someone out there try to order a Double-Double Animal Style…you know, going off the menu…because I’ve never done that and it is probably pretty fun. This day that I’m thinking of, I just ordered a hamburger and fries and possibly a vanilla milkshake. The dude behind the counter (his name tag read “LEIGHTON”) took my order and asked for my name so he could call me when it was ready. I had parked in the parking lot and was just going to sit out on the benches out front, with all the tumbleweeds and litter and soda cans sort of blowing past me in the way that they do when you’re sitting outside next to a really busy street. Mmmm, In N Out. La la la. And then:

Leighton: Chiara. Chi-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-ra. Chiara. What kind of a name is that? Chiara? Chiara.

Chiara(giving prepared speech): “It’s an Italian name that means ‘light.’”

Leighton: Well, Chiara, that will be seven eighty-three, Chiara, for your order. I’ll call you when it’s ready Chiara. Chiara.

Chiara: Uh, okay. Thanks.

And you know at In N Out (okay, at least at the one on Foothill in Upland) they have the little microphone from which they bellow out your name when your order’s ready. I’d been sitting there a while, shading my eyes against the sun and dreaming of French fries.
Leighton (over the loudspeaker): CHIAAAAAAAARA, YOU’RE ORDER’S READY. CHIARA, YOUR ORDER IS READY, CHIARA.

Inside Chiara’s Head: Okay, Leighton. Thanks so much, Leighton. I’m on my way up to the window, Leighton. Gah!

Chiara: Thanks.

Leighton (again with the loudspeaker): NO, THANK YOU…CHIARA.

I’ve just always thought that was so weird. I guess he’d never heard the name and really liked it. Maybe his daughter or his sister or his girlfriend was named Chiara and he was just looking for an excuse to say her name a lot. Maybe he liked that it rhymes with ‘tiara.” I have no idea.

In general, I like my name. My mom had thought to name me Claire ( yes, a fat girl’s name, which in this case is all too apt) and then my dad suggested Chiara because he thought that Claire would sound weird with my very Italian last name. I always wanted a bike license plate with my name on it when I was a kid, and I’ve always had to wait for the teacher’s pause and furrowed brow when she comes to my name calling the roll the first day of school every year, but other than that I like my name. I like it so much (or, to be completely honest, because I am so self-obsessed) that I have Googled my name for your reading enjoyment. My first and last names, if you Google them, don’t bring up much except this fake band I was in during college. However, just the Chiara? Provides us with the following:

The Chiara College of Metaphysics This is the funniest thing ever. I’m so sorry they already have that domain name because I was thinking of starting a school with that very name, wherein I’m the president and the only professor and you come to class to listen to me talk about my enticingly thrilling life. Hey, people who know me in real life: next time you hear someone say something really stupid that sounds like something I would say or actually have said (the prime example being “Yeah, it’s really cold now. I just don’t understand it, it was so hot six months ago!”) say to them, “Have you been studying at the Chiara College of Metaphysics?” It’s going to take the country by storm, I can just tell.

Oh, and of course there’s this girl from some TV show that gave all Chiaras a bad name forever. Is it wrong that I read the TWOP recaps of this show when it was on, not because I watched the show, but because I wanted to see my name in print online? It is?

And then, for your next party, there is always the Chiara String Quartet. They look like they’re pretty good, yes? And continuing with the music theme, there’s always
this Italian band consisting of two girls called Paola and Chiara. Whose website doesn’t seem to be working very well. Oh, but that’s okay, because they seem to have a lot of fan sites. Apparently they’re pretty good, according to this badly translated girl:

“More than a year from when my life one has intercrossed with that one of ‘two fabulous Princes’ Paola & Chiara calls, and with the history of tantissimi fans with which I have lived several adventures… and vary momenti..dalla tristestezza to the crowds allegria! Sentimenti that I will not never be able scordare! Cos젉 would want to tell to all those that they will read this story of as two persons can ‘change the existence’ and make to you to meet with other boys who with to you will share the more magical moments!”

Fabulous princes, eh? All part of the deal when you’re a Chiara. As is, apparently, devotion to the: Dalai Lama. Italian Buddhists. Weird. My mom actually went to an Italian Buddhist monastery last summer through a series of wild adventures. So there you go. She should have stayed at the Santa Chiara Hotel. I’m sure they would have given her a discount for being the Mom of a Chiara. In fact, if any of y’all go there, tell them I sent you and maybe they’ll give you a discount too. Can’t hurt to try, right?

So, clearly I could go on and on in the World’s Most Self-Absorbed Entry (which is saying something, for me) , but I think the message is clear. I am but one little insignificant Chiara in a whole world of Chiaras. I think it’s always helpful to be reminded that you’re not unique. Lest, you know, you get a big head or something. And, Leighton, if you’re reading this: CHIARA CHIARA CHIARA. You’re welcome.


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