Last evening, I decided to take a short drive (something I pledged to do regularly after my passive-aggressive car’s last trip to the mechanic), and I ended up at a drive-thru. I was about to order fish, but noticed a special offer. I predetermined that I wouldn’t feel like cooking today, and doubled my order. I drove around to the pay window, then the pick up window. I looked into the bag and noticed two sandwiches but only one order of fries. The attendant noticed I was still there and asked if there was a problem. “Your sign says free medium fries with the purchase of any new chicken sandwich. I have two sandwiches but only one order of fries.” Even behind her mask, she looked confused, so she summoned the masked manager whose attitude wasn’t exactly customer friendly. I was glad I had my mask on (and a can of Lysol at the ready) because she was fired up in tone and posture. “I ordered two sandwiches and I’m missing a fry” I said. The way she responded, you would have thought I’d thrown the pickles in her face. “Hmph! You have your fries! You have to ask for the fries when you order!” she screamed as if I was supposed to know the drill, or have extraordinary ocular powers that enabled me to read fine print in the dark. “Some people don’t want fries, so you have to ask for them!” I wondered if she’d misunderstood my request for fries as a demand for the cash register and her first born child. I replied that I did ask, offered a bit of simple math, then dreaded even going there in the first place. Why hadn’t I gone to Maryland Seafood? The catfish is delicious!
I’d had a very peaceful day. I even finished the painting I’d been working on. It was not my goal to squabble over anything, definitely not fries, considering the gallon ziploc bag of cut, fresh potatoes I have in my freezer, some of which I could have easily dropped in some hot grease.
Frankly, one of the things I love about this wacky time is the lack of confrontation of any kind from anyone! When was the last time I was in an argument large or small? There have been no disputes; no fussing; no misunderstandings, just peace. I’m not one to go looking for trouble, but the manager’s disposition begged for a response. I could see if I had been rude or demanding, but I merely brought her attention to, and wanted to take advantage of THEIR offer—an offer that I knew nothing about until I arrived. Dear managers: Just say you’re running short on fries or containers. I’ll understand. Heck. I was prepared to pay for fries anyway and probably would have supersized them! Just take the promo sign down; cancel the promotion altogether; just say you don’t think the promotion is a good idea for your location; but don’t make your oversight or attempt to amend the rules of the promotion the customer’s fault. I got the feeling that they’d been reluctantly handing out fries all day.
Not intending to get my blood pressure up over what was the equivalent of a small potato, I considered driving off, then I heard, “Ma’am, I’m just telling you what YOUR sign says. I don’t work here”. I suddenly wondered “Who said that?” It was so like something my late father would have said, in syntax and snarky tone, that it started me. It also got the response he would have expected and demanded. She stomped off, came back with the fries, placed them in a small bag and handed them through the window. “You have a nice evening, and when you come back, just remem...”. I cut her off as I took the bag; wondering if she’d sneezed on the fries, or loaded them with salt. “Thanks. I won’t be back”, I said. I’d never heard “Have a nice evening” uttered with so much malice.
“Why? WHY did you leave home?You just HAD to go out, didn’t you?” I laughed to myself as I drove off. “You could have gone to 7-Eleven or Baskin-Robbins and picked up some ice cream. You could have picked up a catfish platter. You could have thawed out and cooked what you had at home, but nooooooo.”
All the way home I wondered why people are so mean and short tempered, particularly about the littlest things. What is it about people denying others what’s in abundance, or what doesn’t belong to them? Would honoring the promotion have killed her? Was the franchise’s French fry budget coming out of her pocket? Is there a potato famine in addition to the pandemic? Why so nasty?
Then I considered her day; her week even. How difficult had it been? Had she been cussed out over French fries before I showed up? Did she even want to be there?
I got home and did the customary dump of the food into a pan. It was cold. (I thought back to family car rides as a child and being so excited about stopping at the McDonald’s off of Indian Head Highway on Livingston Road. We’d get our bags and my mother would tell us to wait until we got home to eat. It was a 10 minute, 2 mile trip home and when I’d open my bag, my fries would still be hot.) I put my cold meal into the oven. I put the other sandwich and fries in the freezer. As the oven psychologically reassured me that it was methodically killing any traces of cooties or coronavirus, I made myself a strawberry-lemonade smoothie.
Maybe it was the ordeal, or maybe my taste buds (that hadn’t experienced fast food since 2019) were being fickle, but the sandwich, although filling, was just okay. The rubbery fries were nothing like the fries of my childhood that were always piping hot, superior to all others, spectacularly crispy and delicious.
What is that magical age when your speech becomes less filtered, the principle of a thing really matters, and your gut no longer celebrates the things that drove your younger self into doing a happy dance?
Perhaps, my fast food days are over.
No comments:
Post a Comment