This is a completely useless rant but here goes. I have a sinful pleasure, a vice that I have yet to successfully give up. This vice is the fast food breakfast. Whether it’s a steak and egg burrito at Del Taco or one of those decadent yet seriously deadly McGriddles at McDonald’s, I hooked. Yeah, I know. I’ve seen the “Super Size Me” movie and I agree with all the bad press and statistics against fast food … and still I find myself at their door at least once a week begging for my fix. So, being a connoisseur of the greasy breakfast on-the-go, I have my needs and they need to be fulfilled to every specification. That means I need the whole package, which includes whatever sauce and spice is necessary to complete the blissful event, in summation… “Where is the ketchup?”
Why is it that a restaurant which serves some kind of potato with every meal, in a country that is completely and unabashedly addicted to ketchup, catsup, however you spell it; I can’t seem to get any without being downright pushy? I need some kind of sweetener with my iced tea and I need my blessed ketchup!! Is that so much to ask at a drive-through window?
When I was a teen I worked a few months at a fast food joint. It’s not rocket science. They had a manual for exactly how to do everything. Mayo on the top bun; ketchup, lettuce, pickle on the bottom, pillow the patty just so, wrap in the paper with care. Why not a manual for “Give the woman some ketchup, will ya?” This is why teens and those lacking in the finer art of speaking English can work there and earn at least a meager existence in this over-priced, rather spoiled, great country of ours. Personally, when I was schlepping burgers, I found it easier to throw a handful of condiments in the bag just in case they wanted some and to get them out of my hair faster. But it seems in this advanced age of service oriented food that service is the least of their concerns.
I travel most days to clients all over the county so I’ve been to several different restaurants. I also have a local McDonald’s I go to with my son when he wants breakfast. These are people I know by name. It doesn’t seem to matter if you are a regular or stranger off the street. Only one of many of these fine examples of the American way has ever offered ketchup without prompting. I was so shocked at the wonderful service I called the number on the window to give my compliments to the owner. Usually, they foist a bag of food out their window, hand you a drink and turn away before you can even ask graciously for what you need. I don’t want to get all uppity and raise my voice just for a little help. It’s just not worth it. But I do it because, I may die from this food but I’m not dying on the battlefield of not speaking up for a little service!
Why is it that a restaurant which serves some kind of potato with every meal, in a country that is completely and unabashedly addicted to ketchup, catsup, however you spell it; I can’t seem to get any without being downright pushy? I need some kind of sweetener with my iced tea and I need my blessed ketchup!! Is that so much to ask at a drive-through window?
When I was a teen I worked a few months at a fast food joint. It’s not rocket science. They had a manual for exactly how to do everything. Mayo on the top bun; ketchup, lettuce, pickle on the bottom, pillow the patty just so, wrap in the paper with care. Why not a manual for “Give the woman some ketchup, will ya?” This is why teens and those lacking in the finer art of speaking English can work there and earn at least a meager existence in this over-priced, rather spoiled, great country of ours. Personally, when I was schlepping burgers, I found it easier to throw a handful of condiments in the bag just in case they wanted some and to get them out of my hair faster. But it seems in this advanced age of service oriented food that service is the least of their concerns.
I travel most days to clients all over the county so I’ve been to several different restaurants. I also have a local McDonald’s I go to with my son when he wants breakfast. These are people I know by name. It doesn’t seem to matter if you are a regular or stranger off the street. Only one of many of these fine examples of the American way has ever offered ketchup without prompting. I was so shocked at the wonderful service I called the number on the window to give my compliments to the owner. Usually, they foist a bag of food out their window, hand you a drink and turn away before you can even ask graciously for what you need. I don’t want to get all uppity and raise my voice just for a little help. It’s just not worth it. But I do it because, I may die from this food but I’m not dying on the battlefield of not speaking up for a little service!
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