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Thursday, May 17th, 2012

I know this might be difficult for some of you to believe, but I was in Wendy’s this afternoon. I was sitting in a boof by a window, where I could keep an eye on my car (since my laptop was on the passenger seat), enjoying a #1 with cheese, no pickles, and a Coke. Well, actually… I went with the sweet tea this time. But that’s neither here nor there.

I was eating, when some guy sat down in the booth in front of mine – facing me. The place was almost empty, it was off-hours, and the dude went with the seat that was sure to generate the maximum amount of awkwardness. Simply excellent.

“Hi,” he said, before his ass was fully in his chair. Great…

I gave him the “sup?” chin-lift, and continued working on my fries. I was hoping I’d conveyed a “not really interested in chatting” vibe, without being openly rude. But apparently I need to perfect my technique.

“Those phones are fantastic, aren’t they?” he said. “What is that, an iPhone?”

“It’s a Droid,” I answered.

“Oh, Droid. Those are fantastic.”

Two fantastics already… I gave him a weak “yep” and kept going.

“Do you know you can download an app to your iPhone there, that gives you advance warning when cops are out patrolling, watching for speeders?”

I realized the dude was eating two giant Frostys: one vanilla, one chocolate. And nothing else.

He continued. “It costs $99, but if it saves you once it’s paid for itself, right? Because a ticket is usually around $180, plus your insurance goes up.”

“Uh huh.”

“It’s a fantastic service, you should check it out. And that $99 is a one-time fee, not yearly. And like I said… if it saves you once, it’s more than paid for itself already.”

Oh, man… I still had half a burger to go.

“You can hook it into your GPS, too. It’s designed to work with Garmin, and TomTom, and all the big names. It’s fantastic! And if it saves you once, it’s paid for itself. It’s a great app that you can download straight to your iPhone there, and it costs $99. That’s for life, remember, not yearly. You’ll get all the updates for life. I use it, and I think it’s fantastic.”

“Well, I’ll definitely check it out,” I lied.

“Tell all your friends about it!” he shouted, with Frosty all over his teeth.

“I will,” I said, while climbing to my feet – with at least seven full-sized fries remaining. They would have to be sacrificed, there was no other way. “See you later.”

I went outside, and got in my car. And as I was backing out of the parking spot, I noticed the Honda beside me had the URL for the app’s website stenciled on the back window.

Good god. I assume the guy has some sort of stake in the business, right? That’s pretty obvious. But a few minutes later I came up with a preferable scenario. Maybe he just REALLY loves the app? Heh. That’s what I choose to believe.

It reminds me of a man who used to drive around town in a car emblazoned with a gigantic GEICO logo – it covered the entire vehicle. One day I saw him in a parking lot, and said, “So, do you work for GEICO, or just really like their service?” Luckily, he busted out laughing.

Anyway… I don’t mind chitchatting with people, as long as they’re not an annoying brand of crazy – or working some angle. You know, like a religious nut, or someone with a political axe to grind. This dude clearly had an agenda. And is that really his business model? Bugging strangers in fast food restaurants, who happen to have an “iPhone?” I’m not sure that’s the way to go.

What are your thoughts on chitchatting with strangers? I like talking with people in dive bars, but you’ve got to be careful. A lot of people are mean drunks (I’m the opposite), and have a hair-trigger temper. I like to prod folks to talk, but one time a guy turned to me and said, “Are you writing a fucking book?” That was awkward.

So, what’s your stance on chitchat? Can you remember any especially interesting episodes? Please use the comments link below.

And I’ll be back tomorrow, my friends.

See ya then.

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Perfection Denied: A Day Which Will Live In Infamy

Tuesday, May 15th, 2012

Since I’m regularly infuriated by people in fast food restaurants, and their scattered, shithead ways, it’s very important to me that I not be a hypocrite on the subject. So, when it’s my time to order, I’m always prepared for action.

You’ll never hear me say things like, “So, tell me a little about this… Big Mac sandwich? Is that what it’s called? It sounds interesting. What comes on that?” Or, “Yes, can I get the Whopper, but with the meat higher up in the stack? I prefer it to be above the lettuce and tomato. Also, can you cut all my fries in half? I have trouble with some of the really long ones.”

No, I’m always ready to go, the moment I’m called upon. I clearly enunciate with just enough (but not too much!) information, give the cashier ample breathing room to key everything, and already have my money or bank card in hand at the end of the process. So, there’s no fumbling around in my pockets, or any of that nonsense.

And I work within the accepted framework of whatever restaurant I happen to be visiting. I hate fast food pickles, for instance, but when I’m at McDonald’s I just let it go. It’s a conveyor belt of burgers back there, and it’s not advisable to disturb the rhythm. I just remove the pickles myself, on the back-end. But at Wendy’s they make each burger individually, so I feel comfortable telling them to hold the pickle. It’s a case by case thing, always within the accepted framework.

Then, as soon as the transaction is complete, I step to my left and allow access for the next person in line. I’ve said it a million times before, and I’ll say it again: I’m the guy you want to be in line behind at a fast food restaurant. I am the ideal fast food customer, and fully expect that to be my legacy.

But let me tell you about something that happened at Burger King a few days ago…

I went in there around 10:00 a.m. I’d already been up for hours and wanted lunch. But it was still breakfast in the BK world, so I rolled with it. Respect the framework, remember.

And when it was my time to order, I told the woman I wanted a sausage, egg, and cheese Croissan’wich, and a small soda. The soda is self-serve, so there’s no need to be specific. To say “Dr. Pepper” or “Coke” or whatever, is to open yourself up to complications. Like, “Oh, we’re out of Dr. Pepper today, but we have root beer.” That kind of thing. When it’s self-serve the generic “soda” is preferred.

So, my ordering technique was perfection, as always. But the cashier wouldn’t accept my gift of being a total pro, and insisted on making everything complicated. Usually they recognize the accomplished and polished customer, and appreciate it. But not this chick.

“Do you really want the small soda, or did you mean the value soda?” she asked. What? I don’t like this kind of crap. It adds an unnecessary extra layer to the process. But I said, “Value, I guess.”

And that was a tactical error. It was a gateway to: “The value soda is no-refills. Is that what you want?” What the hell, man?? My order, which was a thing of beauty, was collapsing all around me. Two extra layers now? This was a mess. “Yes, that’s fine,” I said through gritted teeth.

Then, incredibly: “Do you want ketchup?” I’d ordered a sausage, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwich. Ketchup?? Seriously? This was a bridge too far…

“Why would I want ketchup?” I asked. “I don’t understand.”

“Lots of people like ketchup on their eggs,” she shrugged.

“Like special needs kids, and that kind of thing?”

“So, no ketchup?”

The whole thing was spiraling out of control. My masterpiece was ruined. It was like she drew a set of giant buck teeth on the Mona Lisa. Plus, and this really chaps my ass…, they have ketchup dispensers at Burger King! I hadn’t gotten my order to go, I ate it there. Why was she trying to give me ketchup packets??

It was a disaster of the highest order; my own personal 9/11. I’d offered the gift of perfection, and she slapped it away with all her extra layers and bizarro toppings inquiries. It was awful, I tell you, and after today I will never speak of it again.

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