Sunday, April 06, 2008
Working through the evenings Friday and Saturday led me to reflect people in America should stay at home and cook their own dinners, because I weary of serving it to them. Last night a well-attired man, perhaps fifty-two-or-three-ish, stood at the counter after he had received his order for no other purpose than to harass me and the person on grill (who happens to be the manager, though not in uniform designating him as such when he works in the back), because his food came out after that of a larger group of people, who had allowed him to cut in line so that he and his attractive wife could receive their meal the faster, as they were "in a hurry". Not so time-behaggled were they, though, that "Bartholomew" (the name on the ticket, the etymology for which must consist of two base elements, those for "ass" and "hole") could not resist a return to the pick-up counter to request swiss cheese on his burger in a "you incompetent serving-wench" tone [Bartholomew's ticket contained no reference whatsoever to swiss cheese, nor had he ordered a burger that comes con queso] and then to demand an explanation as to the reason for our over-efficiency in getting a larger order out before his. As I fixed the other tickets and struggled to keep a neutral-but-pleasantly-helpful expression on my face, I considered asking whether a blow job might be the thing to appease him, since my usual sincere apology and a free chocolate chip or white chocolate macadamia nut cookie apparently would not serve to assuage this customer's ire. As he continued berating the guy on grill, I walked away for more cookies, in anticipation of the event that the new cashier might continue to misring orders.
I hope Bartholomew has a girlfriend he sees on the sly, who will give him syphilis. His wife seemed gracious enough.
Labels: cookies, customer service, food, Fuddruckers, grilling, patience, sandwiches, Swiss cheese, syphilis, waiting, working
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:16 PM]