So yeah, if it weren’t for bad luck I’d have no luck at all.
Last Friday, I drove home from one of my doctor’s appointments. I’m hungry as anything, and I’m already in pain from my left foot being completely wrecked. I need some comfort food. Nothing major, maybe a chicken sandwich and a diet cola.
Oh look, there’s a Burger King. Just what I need. I’ll order my food through the drive-through speaker, pick it up, drive home. Simple.
It looked like I wasn’t the only person who had dreams of dining with the King that Friday night, there was a decent-sized line at the drive-through. No bigge, it’s not like I’m in any sort of a hurry. Just give me my food and I’ll be happy.
Chicken sandwich, diet cola. No, I don’t want the meal. Just the sandwich and the diet cola, I’m not a big fan of Burger King’s fries. Yes, I’ll pull around to the window.
I get to the transfer window and hand the employee my credit card to pay for my meal. A few moments later, she hands me back the diet cola.
As I reach for the diet cola, I hear something cluttering to the ground.
Yep. The Burger King employee tried to hand me my credit card and my soda at the same exact time. Now I’m not an expert in fast food procedures, but I’m certainly of the belief that if someone’s in a car at a drive-through window, they really only have one available hand – their left – to reach for the food. And that being said, any other time I’ve driven through a fast-food drive-through area, the cashier hands me back my credit card (along with my receipt) separately from my food.
I looked around. The card was on the ground, but I couldn’t see it from my vantage point.
“Uh-oh,” the employee said, “You dropped your card.”
I dropped it? Seriously? You handed it to me with my drink, I’ve only got one hand to reach for it, and I’m lucky I was able to grasp the slippery drink cup, let alone know that you were going to slip my credit card in my hand at the same time…
“Can you help me get the card from the ground?”
“I can’t do that, sir.”
I opened the car door. No sign of the credit card. I know it’s on the ground, but I can’t see it. It must be behind the door somewhere.
“Is there someone inside who can help me out?”
Someone who looked like a manager approached the window.
“He dropped his credit card,” the employee said.
“Can someone help me get the card?”
“I’m sorry,” said the manager, “I’d have to walk all around the back of the building to just get outside to help you out.”
Horn from behind. Apparently someone’s not happy that they have to wait for a Whopper.
I opened my car door again. Slid my hand under the door frame. Patted the ground left and right. Finally, one of my fingertips went from rough stone to smooth plastic. A couple of seconds later, the credit card was back in my car.
At this point, the employee finally decided to hand me my chicken sandwich and my credit card receipt. “Have a nice day,” she sing-songed to me.
Granted, you’re going to say to me, “Chuck, what do you expect, it’s a bunch of minimum-wage Burger King workers, don’t take it personally.”
Yeah. No. At this point in time, with everything miserable happening to me of late, I AM taking this personally. If the cashier wasn’t so lazy that she tried to hand me everything in one quick pass, knowing that a driver can only reach for the food with one hand without turning their body like an Egyptian hieroglyph, then I wouldn’t gripe so much. And yeah, I could have used the “Hey, I’ve got a busted foot, help me out here” line, but I’m still upset about that part of my life right now.
All I wanted that night was some simple comfort food.
And I left the restaurant feeling angrier and more upset than before I arrived.
Yeah. This is working out REALLY well…