My Experience with the Flying Dutchman
My Experience with the Flying Dutchman
And I don’t mean legendary Indiana Pacers center, Rik Smits
In September of this year, I traveled to Las Vegas to present at the National Funeral Directors Association International Convention and Expo. You’ll notice this is the middle of November, and I’m just getting to write about it. If there are any wealthy benefactors out there who’d like to support me in my writing, you may reach out to me here.
Now, I could focus this piece on my speaking topic at the convention—Improv for Funeral Directors, if you’re wondering—or the ubiquity of Elvis which for this Memphian is, well, whatever, or the free backpack I got (see below) or any number of things.
What I am choosing to spend my time and energy on today, though, is the first In-N-Out Burger experience of my life.
Before leaving for Vegas, I asked all of my good friends on LinkedIn for help finding things to do alone in Sin City that wouldn’t ruin me financially or destroy my marriage. I received two answers: visit the Hoover Dam and try In-N-Out’s secret menu item, The Flying Dutchman. I didn’t have time to get to the Hoover Dam, so Flying Dutchman was, I guess, a must. Being from the eastern part of the US, I’d not had a chance to try In-N-Out, and ordering off the mythical secret menu made it even more exciting.
As I approached the counter, I was actually a little nervous. Obviously, the secret menu wasn’t posted anywhere, so I started wondering if I’d been set up. Up to that point, I’d wanted to be surprised, so I actively avoided any information regarding the Flying Dutchman, no Googling, no conversations, nothing. When it was my turn, though, I couldn’t help it.
“I’d like a Flying Dutchman and a chocolate milkshake please.”
“Ok. One Flying Dutchman and one chocolate milkshake. That’ll be [amount of money I can’t remember].”
Perfect! The Flying Dutchman exists!
“Thanks. Actually, can you tell me what I just ordered?”
“Sure. The Flying Dutchman is a meat patty with cheese on it.”
“Like, just a cheeseburger?”
“No. A meat patty with cheese. No bread.”
I heard the words, but my brain couldn’t process them. There’s no way that’s right. It has to be something else, right?
Nope.
It was a meat patty with cheese. Now, in fairness, it seemed to be extra cheese but still a meat patty with cheese.
After two months, I still can’t decide if the In-N-Out people are con artists or geniuses. Geniuses? Let me explain. Look at the picture above. Imagine someone you trusted (Lacy Robinson in my case) encouraged you to order a Flying Dutchman, and when you walk up to the counter to pick up the way-too-large-for-what-you-just-ordered red tray, this is what you see. Think about the disappointment, possibly even disgust, frustration, or agony you feel. You then walk outside because every seat in the restaurant is filled with someone eating a whole burger. You find a table, take your little plastic fork, and cut a piece of meat with cheese on it, and it actually tastes pretty good. Is that because it’s actually good or because your expectations have dropped to subterranean levels; therefore, anything that’s not disgusting is elevated to enjoyable?
There’s no way to know for sure.
If the latter is true, the fine folks at In-N-Out may, in fact, be geniuses. Let’s make it look so pitiful and sad that anything better than terrible is considered good is a bold strategy, but it clearly worked because I didn’t leave nearly as dissatisfied as I probably should have.
JT...you need friends who will tell you to get a Double Double Animal Style when visiting In-and-Out. Your “Dutchmen” friends are likely Dutch-like: tall liars who are only good at building damns, windmills, riding bikes, and producing subpar beer.