The blue highway signs with white arrows pointing toward hamburgers and toilets are, I would argue, the pinnacle of American civilization. History books will hail names like Musk, Gates, and “The person who made those food signs on the highway.”
I know this sounds like I’m setting the bar embarrassingly low, but hear me out. These magnificent beacons of commerce—the ones that tell you there’s a McDonald’s, a Shell station, and if you’re really lucky, a Cracker Barrel at Exit 247—are perhaps the only signs on our nation’s highways that deliver exactly what they promise, when they promise it, without any philosophical ambiguity whatsoever.
Compare this to literally any other sign you’ll encounter on a Missouri or Kansas highway. “ROAD WORK NEXT 47 MILES”—a lie. There will be three orange cones and a confused-looking man holding a stop sign for approximately eight seconds of those 47 miles. “SPEED LIMIT 70″—a suggestion, apparently, based on how everyone interprets it. “SCENIC OVERLOOK 2 MILES”—a rest area with a view of a grain elevator and someone’s questionable RV parking choices.
But that blessed blue sign with the knife and fork? That sign is a sacred covenant. It says Wendy’s, and brother, there will be a Wendy’s. It doesn’t say “Wendy’s (Closed Since 2019 But We Haven’t Updated The Sign).” It doesn’t say “Wendy’s (Actually Just A Burned-Out Husk Where A Wendy’s Once Stood).” When you take that exit, you will find square hamburgers waiting for you like old friends.
My personal favorite food/gas sign is the one off of 152 Highway between Liberty and Platte County. It’s at the Indiana Exit and has TWO QuikTrip icons. One saying QuikTrip 1 mile ⬅️ and QuikTrip .5 miles ➡️. Perhaps the greatest piece of knowledge communicated through a sign in history.
The worst is when you drive cross-country and enter a state that DOESN’T offer these bastions of greasy food knowledge. You’re suddenly lost. You can put as much technology and GPS into a car as possible, but how will you know there’s a Kum N Go at the next exit? Where will you pee? How will you know where you can get your next medium order of fries and a vanilla shake?
When I bought my new car a year ago, I had one rule. “I will not eat in this car.” That rule lasted about six weeks and the rule was broken thanks to a road sign off of I-70 that told me where the Bryant’s BBQ was. I may have eaten a rib in the car and broken my one law.
So you can take your “ROAD WORK AHEAD” signs and your “BUCKLE UP” signs. Those are all great. But give me those beautiful blue signs that tell me where the next Casey’s is over any “Walnut Bowl” and “Jesus Saves” billboards on our nation’s roads.
Now I’m hungry. I’ll let the sign choose where lunch is.
