Culinary Confrontation

Hi, yea, I just came through the drive through. I ordered a double cheeseburger with grilled onions, but you gave me a double cheeseburger with raw onions. If you could get me the double cheeseburger with grilled onions that would be great, thanks. My receipt? Why would I keep my receipt? This is a freakin’ fast food joint. Is there a new tax break for strawberry milkshakes and onion rings that I’m not aware of? I just came through the drive through. You saw me. No. You saw me. Your manager? No I do not wish to speak with your manager. This is not between me and the manager. This is between you and me and I know you saw me come through the drive through. I see that look in your eye. I know you saw me. Come on kid, don’t play the ignorant and apathetic card, I know you saw me. You have that look in your eye. I know I’m a stranger, but we spoke. We exchanged words. We exchanged words over that scratchy intercom which made you sound like the last person left stranded on an alien planet, so I know we made a connection for humanity. I let you know what I wanted and you acknowledged my request. Look, I know you don’t know my name and your nametag says, “Rick”, and I realize I don’t know Rick from Dick, but I let you know what I want, I gave you my preference, grilled onions, I let you in on what I enjoy, grilled onions, what my personal taste is, grilled onions, what may or may not set me apart from anyone else who comes into this fine establishment to eat, grilled onions, and you acknowledged my request, for grilled onions, and I put my trust in you that you would fulfill that request and I gave you my money, my hard earned money, money that I could have chosen to spend towards a Nintendo DS for my ten year old son who’s been begging me since last Christmas but which I instead chose to spend here for a double cheeseburger with grilled onions and you looked me in the eye and accepted my money, money that was in my wallet which was in my pants which I washed last night along with my wife’s pink panties from Victoria’s Secret that I bought for her on Valentine’s Day. Now if you ask me, that is a pretty fucking intimate exchange that we had and I am hurt and offended that you refuse to acknowledge that this exchange took place. If I was a complete stranger you wouldn’t have that look in your eye. Why do I need to explain the look in your eye? The look in your eye is the look in your eye. Do you want me to explain the look in your eye when homeboy busts in here with a sawed off twelve gauge and holds it to your head and asks for all the twenties in your register and you just shit your pants? Do you want me to explain the look in your eye when you come back from a late night run to 7-Eleven with a blueberry slurpee in your hands and you walk in on your best friend screwing your fiancé? The look in your eye is the fucking look in your eye. You know it. I know it. Now give me my fucking double cheeseburger with grilled onions. Please.

You want what back? You want the double cheeseburger with raw onions back? You want it back? No, you cannot take it back. You cannot take back your mistake. I paid for your mistake. I own your mistake. I can do whatever I want with your mistake. You already put your mistake out into the world and it’s already rippled its effect. Somewhere there’s a razor thin Ethiopian boy who just died of starvation because of your mistake. You can’t fix your mistake. Giving your mistake back to you does nothing. If I give you your mistake back, you probably throw it in the trash and there’s a homeless guy down the street who just cringed over the very thought of that. Or if I give you your mistake back, you just might scrape off the raw onions, slap on the grilled onions, add a little of your own “special sauce” and hand it back to me with a shit-eating grin on your face. Why would I agree to that?

I’m trying to scam you? Trust me, I am not trying to scam you. You know what’s a scam? You working here under the auspice of good honest work hoping one day you’ll work your way up to night shift manager only to find yourself ten years down the line demoted to scrubbing the deep fryer because you can’t get a simple order right, that’s the scam. You working here ten hours a day, seven days a week for minimum wage without medical benefits while you breathe in ten pounds of charbroiled fumes everyday and eat supersized value number ten with extra mayo every lunch break, that’s the scam. I’m not trying to scam you.

I’m being unreasonable? I placed an order, my order was incorrect, so I parked my vehicle in the handicap spot, which is my right because you just crippled my afternoon, and I came in here to get my order corrected. I’m doing what is right and what is just and I’m the unreasonable one? I shouldn’t have a reasonable expectation to receive exactly what I paid for? I come in here asking for what is right, for what is just and correct and yet I am the unreasonable one? I’m the hysterical one? Is that what the world has come to? That the one who stands up for what is right, for his grilled onions, is the hysterical one? I want my double cheeseburger with grilled onions and I want it now!

Great. Thank you. Now that wasn’t so hard now was it? Oh and by the way, that strawberry milkshake I ordered? You gave me chocolate. But I’ll let it slide. I’m easy like that.