So, I used to tell people that one of my biggest pet peeves is being on the wrong end of "slackery" in a restaurant. ANY restaurant. This includes drive-through fast food places, who seem to have forgotten all about the "fast" part. Let me preface that by saying I'm not one of those jerks who thinks poorly of folks who work in those jobs. I'm always polite to waiters/waitresses, knowing that they put up with rude jerks and sore, tired feet all day, and have the power to spit in my food or not. :-) This philosophy applies to fast food places, as well. I treat them with respect. They work hard, too!
Or...they do sometimes. I tend to "over-tip", too; it's a way to actually show gratitude for polite service. "Polite" has as much value to me as speedy service or affordable prices do, so I don't mind giving a good tip to show it.
However, I just had the pleasure of being "waited on" at McDonalds by this dude:
Allow me to elaborate.
On my short lunch break earlier today, I decided to hit a drive through & get a soda because I really, really wanted some caffeine. (Note to self: bring more of my own caffeinated beverages from home from now on.) Anyway, there is both a McDonald's and a Burger King located right next door to each other just four blocks or so away from the office I work at. I figure I'll visit Burger King, because the McDonald's drive-thru line is always wrapped around the building (gotta love those fries!), but one can NORMALLY get thru Burger King's line in a jiffy.
Except, no. I only have a 30 minute lunch, and I spent half of it waiting in line at that accursed drive-thru with only 2 cars ahead of me. The dullard behind the Burger King drive-thru speaker feebly asked for my order. I asked for a chicken sandwich and my soda. This shining beacon of today's American youth mumbled, "we ain't got that", followed by static. Sigh...okay. I see it right there on the menu board, but, whatever. "How about just a cheeseburger and a diet Dr. Pepper." NOT rocket science. Einstein here says, "Uh..." [long pause] "...okay. That'll be, uh, XX.XX dollars."
Then, I swear, I heard the subtle laughter of the Devil himself as he plotted the ruin of my brief lunch break. I guess I could have hallucinated that, though.
The two cars ahead of me then proceed to NOT MOVE for 15 minutes. What sort of complex issue could cause such a delay? Computer crash at the register? The fryer break down? No. One car finally moves on, perhaps giving up and admitting defeat as I was about to do, and I pull up a bit to see the teenager at the joint's window talking animatedly with the customer ahead of me about God knows what. The delay was the two people in front of me carrying on a personal conversation. Perhaps they're saying, "Hey, let's piss off the dude waiting for his highly complex order of cheeseburger-and-Dr.-Pepper behind you! Ha-Ha!" The line. Never. Moves.
Lo and behold, I look across the street, and McDonald's has gotten through all of their drive-thru customers, and has no one waiting!! A miracle! Like a ray of sunshine from heaven, with a choir of angels singing, I bask in the warm welcome of "no waiting at McDonald's", and it is just too enticing. I pulled out of my spot in line, having already given my order at Burger King, realizing that I'll never penetrate that thick wall of slackery to get my dizzyingly complex order of cheeseburger-and-a-soda. Note that I have also thus fled the drug deal that appeared to be taking place on their very sidewalk, by a rear door. I could care less that they were now shooting me a dirty look for taking my business and precious time elsewhere, after having placed an order. So what...it's unlikely they ever started cooking my burger anyway. I sped to McDonald's, hoping for faster service so I wouldn't be late getting back to work, thinking, "I bet they have Diet Dr. Pepper, even!"
Unfortunately, it seems the same Millennials who work at Burger King also work for McDonalds. I give the young girl at the first McDonald's widow my debit card, and with an almost relieved tone, I tell her, "thanks for the quick service."
She sloooowwwly, dully, looks at me as if I'd just asked her to hand over her wallet. Glaring at me in something between befuddlement and disgust, she hands me my debit card back and mutters, "Next window."
Uuuhh...okay. Thanks. What on Earth does the word "thanks" mean in Millennial-ese? Could I have just accidentally said some sort of inappropriate dirty word in their language? I drive to the next window, as requested...and behind it is the dullest, most vacuous creature you've ever seen. (See photo above.) Without making eye contact, and looking as if he had just finished smoking an enormous bag of marijuana, he fumbles about with my "Diet Dr. Pepper", which is DRENCHED in cola that he has splattered all over it. He feebly tries to hand it to me, as though it weighed 20 pounds. I ask, "Um, can you wipe that off a bit, please?"
Does that sound like I'm the bad guy? Well, by now, I was getting fed up, so who cares.
Without so much as glancing up at me, he slowly withdraws his arm back through the window, and begins wiping the cup down with a napkin in a stunted, zombie-like fashion, then hands me my...sigh...cherry coca-cola (which was a real surprise, yet somehow it wasn't, that I discovered after I'd driven off) with cola still pooled all over the top of the lid. I'm telling you, a trained chimpanzee could have done this better.
I'm beginning to think that this isn't just "bad luck" anymore. This sort of thing happens to me so often that I'm increasingly convinced that there's some sort of dark power at work here. It means to thwart me any time I feel like "dining out". I realize that calling the McDonald's drive-thru "dining out" is a bit of a joke, but I swear... whether it's a burger joint run by a feral pack of drug addled adolescent degenerates with bad hygiene, or a nice restaurant with linen napkins, I am seeing a pattern here. I have LOTS of stories like this, and they're all ridiculous.
Rest assured, this won't be the last time.