I am sitting in this long, LONG line at a local sandwich joint, waiting patiently for a little movement toward obtaining something simple to eat.
Very patiently.
And getting longer.
I have been in line for such a long period of time that I have the opportunity to dictate this column while I wait. And that is NOT a good thing.
It is just a simple order - a sandwich with a few minor adjustments, a bag of chips and a soft drink of the diet variety.
Yet, I sit and wait while some child not yet out of high school decides if my order will arrive intact and in place. My money is on “not.”
So as this tape recorder whirls, I will whisper some thoughts about state of food service in America ... because yelling will only upset the other drivers (and lots of them) waiting behind.
Perhaps not as patiently as I.
First - Is it REALLY “fast” food if you are in line for 10 to 15 minutes?
I thought the entire concept was to make it real fast and deliver it even faster. There are sit-down restaurants where your order (especially at places like Bennigan’s and Applebee’s during the lunch hour) arrives far quicker than wasting gas in a fast food drive-through.
Second - If you sit for 10 minutes, why does it ALWAYS seem as if you order still comes late when you pull to the pay window?
Again, the dictionary says the word, “fast” should mean “lasting a short time.” And in my dictionary, short doesn’t mean late at the window.
To go with that thought, why can’t simple orders get delivered correctly? Is it THAT tough to leave off a slice of tomato when requested? Not when you are in such a hurry that the brain never makes the connection. As is the case with most things, failure to take five extra seconds to insure correctness often results in more anger and resentment toward a company/business.
Next - Why can’t fast food joints offer more than ONE diet drink? If more people (especially children) were weened off sugar, everyone would be better off. Besides, there might not be anything less tasteful than a diet drink from a fountain. The differences between a sweetened syrupy soft drink and the no-calorie variety is akin to the difference between Barry Bonds and any T-ball baseball player.
Fourth - Why don’t these places hire enough people to handle the customer load at the peak times? Do restaurants REALLY think they save money in the long run by short-staffing registers and cooking areas by forcing potential customers to turn away at the site of unmanageable and slow lines? All the best major sit-down restaurants (i.e., The Palm in Dallas) overwhelm you with service personnel. A customer need not wait for great food and makes him or her feel totally appreciated.
Fifth - Why aren’t prices the same at each outlet for each product? Should a Biggie drink at Wendy’s ALWAYS be the same price, instead of gouging the customer? Yet different outlets of the same franchise charge various prices. Instead of avoiding that particular outlet, people often avoid the entire chain.
And if you have a 99-cent menu, don’t list items for which you’ve hiked the prices past 99 cents! How rude!
Sixth - Why is it easier to throw a sponge ball through a brick wall than it is to get a straw into the blasted drink lids? Putting a straw into a drink can more of a traffic hazard than putting on makeup in the morning. My experience says Jack in the Box is the worst.
And why are some drive-through lanes so close to the main entrance that you have to dodge fearful pedestrians merely to exit? Whoever designed these some of these stores must have been playing one of the weird video games at the time.
Finally … a word to my other lane occupants: Bumper stickers with expletives as part of the message make you look really ignorant, cheap and trashy. Then again, class isn’t a product you can order through the drive-through, is it?
Ah, finally, at the window and ... oops, wrong order. Never asked for the lobster combo with potato cake and orange drink. Go back to the line, don’t pass “Go!” and don’t collect those freebie Beanie Babies that promotions promise, but stores never seem to stock.
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