Intolerance comes with age. At times.
I don’t do fast food all that often, but when I do I expect it to be efficient. Most corporate chains have hundreds of stores, if not thousands.
If practice does indeed make perfect, they should have it right by now.
But they complicate things. There are apps. There are payment systems. There are stupid people who have no idea what they want until a 15-year-old asks them through a speaker to please peruse the menu.
Then, upon determining that there are probably three options worth considering, the driver of the vehicle turns to each of three fellow occupants to ask what they want.
They too haven’t seen the damn menu, and it becomes a discussion whether individual meals will work out better value than a shared family deal.
There were two cars behind me. Now there are five.
Paranoia kicks in and I’m starting to wonder whether the car on my rear thinks I’m the cause of the delay.
The car in front has since determined that they’ll save 20 cents by ordering on the app, at which point they must present a credit card and seemingly dispute that the order they’ve keyed into their phone doesn’t coincide with the order in the bag that’s been handed through the window.
Problem is, the car in front of me has taken a slight turn to access the window where a clown with a phone app is arguing with a lad in a headset with little clue, at which point I’m the only car those behind me can see.
Now I’m sure they think it’s my fault, so the only option is for me to show distress at being held up. If I’m flustered, how on earth can it be my fault, right?
So the missing mayonnaise has been located, app man has his meal, and headset boy prepares to meet somewhat angry man who now has 10 cars behind him, all thinking I’ve ordered 27 items from the menu.
Headset boy smiles. I smile back, hand over my credit card, collect my meal and wonder why I’d ever put myself through that trap ever again.
Until next time of course.
