I was the hungry corporate drone with barely any time to grab food and get back to the salt mines, waiting as patiently as I knew how for my turkey burger and salad.
You were the large-and-in-charge woman in front of me in line, holding a paper sack that--between the grease exuding from the burger inside and the violent shaking it underwent--nearly suffered a structural integrity failure.
I don't know what exactly your original complaint was--something about a double Guacamole Bacon Six Dollar Burger that didn't measure up to your lofty expectations from the minimum-wage employees of a ubiquitous chain that doesn't need your business to stay afloat--but the manager came over and replaced the burger for you.
You looked at it (what I wouldn't give to be able to glare at a piece of meat, some bread and some vegetables like that!) and demanded to know why there were no onions on your burger, at which point the manager, whom you had so artistically reduced to a whimpering wraith, had some onions put on, despite the fact that the burger you ordered does not normally come with onions.
If you like this story, consider signing up for our email newsletters.
SHOW ME HOW
You have successfully signed up for your selected newsletter(s) - please keep an eye on your mailbox, we're movin' in!
Nothing daunted, you continued to berate the poor woman for a good four or five minutes after she handed you the new burger. My blood boiled sympathetically in anger as you described your frustration that it wasn't done right the first time; my taste buds rose up in revolt when you explained that your fries were now cold; when you got to the sob story about your poor, aged mother having to sit in the hot car while you resolved this issue, I nearly cried, right there in the middle of the restaurant. (I didn't, though. It would have been extremely embarrassing--though not as embarrassing as having a mother who sits meekly in a hot car, unable to operate windows or doors while her daughter Saves the Universe.)
We shared a moment, but I don't think you noticed. You certainly weren't thinking about anyone else behind you in line, so I have to assume that this connection was missed because I just couldn't compete with your lashing out at people who'd already tried to rectify the situation you were complaining about. I tried to capture your attention by playing the air violin and whistling "Déjenme si estoy llorando," but you had flounced out the door, your futile jeremiad spent.
Still, I'd love to see you again. I'll buy you another 2,200-calorie lunch and you can tell me all about the things that make you angry, like those damn incompetent morons at the Carl's Jr. at the Block who left the onions off the burger that doesn't come with them anyway. I'll serenade you once again--maybe this time you'll hear it over the nervous laughter of the abused employees.
- Location: Carl's Jr. at the Block at Orange
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests