Lies We Tell Ourselves

So, this is getting posted late, but I wanted to share anyway. As it is, I’m just sort of throwing this together. Mondays just aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, and this one has been especially hectic. Luckily it’s almost over. Maybe you’ll share in my frustration. Or laugh at it. I’m good either way.

Anywho, Monday morning I went to McDonald’s to get some breakfast…yum, right? You’d think, but well, no. Even though I was there during prime breakfast hours — 8 a.m. — I still had to wait for the hashbrowns. It seems I spend half my life waiting on McDonald’s hashbrowns. Since I was using the drive-thru (I mean, of course, I was), I had to wait in “Spot A” — one of two designated spots for people to wait when the food isn’t ready. Although at my McDonald’s, it’s really just the entire parking lot, because I don’t think they ever have anyone’s entire order ready at the same time, so we’re all just sort of sitting around checking out every worker that comes out, hoping it’s our car they’re headed to with their bag of goodies.

I’ll just interject here, being told by the drive-thru person that my hashbrowns will be out shortly is like when I say I’m leaving in 5 minutes. Oh, sure, the stated time frame might be the same, but we both know it’s not going to happen.

I should also say that I ordered a breakfast that came with hashbrowns. Duh. I mean, that’s the whole point of breakfast at McDonald’s…hashbrowns. But, being the glutton I am, I ordered an extra hashbrowns. I just roll like that at 8:00 a.m. on Monday morning. So here I am, waiting for my hashbrowns and, despite the assurances of “it’ll be out in 3 minutes,” no less than 10 minutes go by. Keep this in mind when I tell you I’m leaving to meet you anywhere, lest you be disappointed…my sense of time is very similar to McDonald’s.

Lo and behold, after I had decided that no food was actually coming at all and I was just destined to spend this dismal Monday morning listening to my stomach berate me, I view the black-shirted bearer of food coming towards my car and I’m at once elated and relieved. Finally, I can leave this cursed asphalt wasteland for a better land beyond, a land where hashbrowns go hand-in-hand with coffee and all is right with the world.

In my pent-up frustration and rush to leave, however, I made a grave error. I. Did. Not. Check. The. Bag. I got where I needed to be, and you guessed it. No. Hashbrowns. Like, at all. Not the original hashbrowns that went with my pancake breakfast, and certainly not the extra order of hashbrowns. Just none. Zip. Nada.

Of course, the question I asked myself, and to which I have no easy answer: just what in the hell did they have me wait for??  What was the point of that entire exercise??

And to that, I say, well played, Monday.  Well played indeed.

 

Morning Cup of Something

My coffee pot died a few months ago. We had a funeral and everything. It was very sad. I loved that coffee pot like it was my own child.  To add insult to injury, I haven’t had the chance lately to visit the store in search of a few staples (half & half, sugar, a new coffee pot, blah blah blah) AND there was no time this morning to hit the McDonald’s for a fresh (semi-fresh?) cup of joe. It’s the one thing I miss about the very early way too early schedule during the school year. I could swing by the local golden arches and get my coffee before starting work. But not today. So, everything in my coffee this morning, including the sweetener, comes from a tin. Blech.

At least the cup is cool.

 

 

Fresh Faces

So, I went through the McDonald’s drive-thru for my daily dose of caffeine this morning. The same McDonald’s I always go to. Actually, the only McDonald’s in my small little town. I dislike this McDonald’s; I’ll get that out upfront. They cheat on the sodas by not filling up the cup (every single time), the orders are correct only half the time, and the people, well…the people leave a lot to be desired. Let’s just leave it at that. But hey, I don’t envy them their jobs whatsoever and I do feel for them having to work in the fast food field, so I never complain. But I’m not sure it’s the business in general that has them displaying not so polite tendencies or if it’s just this McDonald’s in particular…which does seem to have more than its fair share of burned-out employees. Either way, I try to be patient, which you all know is not my strong suit. That’s not to say that I don’t mutter to myself, in less than subtle terms, over their attitudes once I’ve left though. I am human after all.

However, this morning I was greeted by a bright, cheerful, polite, smiling, upbeat, and happy woman at the window. Coffee with whipped cream, ma’am? Here you go and I hope you have a wonderful day.  Take care!  

All I can say is, she must be new.

Unpaid Talent

I realized recently that I am truly good at so many things…and get paid for absolutely none of them.

For instance, I’m excellent at choosing the wrong line. Oh, some people may be skilled at this particular ability while visiting the grocery store to which I say: amateur!   Me on the other hand — well, not to toot my own horn, but here lays remarkable talent I tell you.

I’m on top of my game in all sorts of venues — the grocery store, the gas station, the library check-out, the carnival ride, the train, the cab kiosk, even the McDonald’s. Yes, the McDonald’s.

Our McDonald’s has a new double lane drive-thru, it was just renovated…and I kid you not, it makes no difference which one I pull into, something, anything, will cause it to be delayed. The car in front of me may be purchasing 15 of everything off the menu, but not stating their demand in any sort of order whatsoever or with any sense of hurry. Hell, sometimes they have to phone home just to confirm they’ve got it right. “Hey, I’m here at the McDonald’s now. You want onions on that McDouble? No? You sure?  Oh no, no rush, it’s not like people are waiting in line or anything. Take your time. It’s an important decision.”  Or perhaps the person taking the order decided to take a break. They say “I’ll be right with you,” but then they never are; likely they’re distracted by indoor customers or the constant barrage of impossible multi-tasking that’s required in their position.  Or maybe they’re new. Or just can’t work the machine to get the order to come up just right. It makes no difference. The end result is the same. It’s no longer fast food.  I don’t blame the workers, their life is hard enough, and I don’t envy them their jobs. At. All.

It’s me. I’m the line delayer. That’s my job. And I’m good at my job.  Damn good.