The smell of urine, random piles of vomit, mystery sticky patches on the floor...all accompanied by a crazy hobo talking to himself and barking at random strangers. If you're extra lucky, Jesus himself will make an appearance, cross and all, to tell you he died for your sins.
Next stop, any place that serves alcohol.
Why would chicken make me want to drink you ask? Because their breakfast sandwiches smothered in syrup are so good they make me want to slap my momma, but I can no longer eat them knowing they do not support marriage equality. Luckily, all I need are a few Bloody Marys before you can cover pretty much anything else in syrup, and I won't be able to tell the difference.
Rush hour traffic.
Why do they call it "rush hour" if it literally lasts from six am to eight pm? Sure, it takes a break for lunch, but it gets right back to business after, making sure it takes you at least an hour to get somewhere ten minutes away. Oh you have somewhere to be? Make that two hours.
Don't worry though, the traffic will completely open up right as you are approaching your highway exit.