Someone messed up The Dwarf's coffee order

He's right, but it's Albom ...

 

I never said it was the worst. I've had far worse, which if you knew me better, you'd know. But it is an annoying thing and not going to get any better.

 

I ordered fast food, went to convenience stores, etc etc, in the 1970s.

Guess what: A lot of people were idiots then, too.


For example: In the late 1970s I worked on a gas station driveway crew with five or six other grease monkeys. Instead of everybody driving off by themselves for lunch, we started sending out one guy with a big order.

So one day I drove the wrecker over to Burger King a half-mile away with an order for six guys. Everything was written down, who wanted Whoppers with no tomato, who wanted chicken sandwich plus cheese, who wanted extra onions, etc etc etc. Handed the window guy the order. Five minutes later he hands me a few bags and a couple trays of drinks.

I get back to the station and start unpacking the order. Every fucking thing is fucked up. Fish instead of chicken, NO cheese instead of extra cheese, so on and so forth. Cherry Coke instead of regular Coke. We were short a drink and two fries and somehow got a sundae nobody had ordered and nobody wanted. In the confusion we were two sandwiches short. Everyone was pissed.

OK a couple days later it was time for lunch again. This time we got smart, we pulled up to the microphone and said, "We have a large order. We are going to read it out for you item by item and then when we get to the window we will give you the written list. You got that?"

"Oh yeah sure sir, sounds fine."

So we get to the window, hand them the list and once again after a few minutes they hand over the bags. At least from cursory examination we appear to have the right number of sandwiches, so we say fuck it and leave.

Back to the station. Open up the bag and yes, you guessed it, every god damn mother fucking sandwich is fucked up one way or another, AGAIN.

The next week some brave soul says, "Let's give them one last chance." So once again we write up the order, neatly, on a nice piece of paper.

We pull up to the mike and once again went through the "we are going to read you the list then give you a written copy." Once again they say, "fine." At the window we hand them over the written list.

So we wait a few minutes and they hand over the bags. They hand us the last bag, and we start unwrapping each individual sandwich on the front seat of the wrecker to make sure it is what we ordered.

"Sir, would you like to move along?" Window Boy asks.

"No, I don't think we would," I respond. "We are going to sit right here until we open each and every sandwich in this order."

Window Boy, "Sir, I don't really think that's necessary."

Me: "Well I am sorry you don't THINK it is necessary, but let me assure you it IS fucking necessary, because you people have fucked up every fucking order we have made here over the last month, so this fucking time we are going to sit our big burger-eating asses right here to make sure every fucking sandwich is correct. You got that, sonny boy?" We had already found several sandwiches in fact were fucked up.

Window Boy: "Sir I have other customers waiting for their food."

Me: "I am sorry but that is too fucking bad, we are going to sit right here until this shit is straightened out, and maybe if the other customers have to wait three more minutes for their food you might not fuck up their orders too for a change."

Finally Mr. Manager came out and threw us 30-40 bucks in gift certificates just to get our asses out of there.

We decided henceforth any orders from BK must be only "standard" sandwiches. Hold the pickle, hold the lettuce, forget about that shit.

A decade or more before Leo Getz, we had learned a hard lesson: They fuck you at the drive thru.

And 30 years before Occupy, we knew without a doubt that shit was fucked up and bullshit.

 

They only said that special orders don't upset them, not that they're going to do anything about them.

 

Right. They didn't seem upset at all, as they fucked up order after order.

 

Years ago, a guy I know did a newsletter some people here subscribed to called The Mitch Watch, where people around Detroit would chronicle their favorite Mitch sightings.
One edition mentioned how he dressed down a coffee shop waitress because something wasn't up to snuff, I ant to say the hash browns were soggy.
After that. Albom dressing down a less-than-minimum-wage server for a problem tunes me out. Mr. Stand Up For The Little Guy bitching out a server makes me want to puke faster than his falling for Webber's bullshit.
Not everyone is as perfect as Mitch. Sucks to be society. Fuck you, parasite.

 

Delusional, preening scab.

Fits right in with the current scurvy-ridden incarnation of Sports Reporters.

 

A spoiled snotnose mailing it in . . . Exhibit A.

 

Missing the truth? How about telling bald-faced lies.

Saw his "Fab Five" book in the sports section of a used bookstore the other day. I so wanted to move it to fiction. I should have.

 

I stopped going to Burger King years ago because they couldn't get the orders right.

 

I don't eat there very often anymore, but I once got busy in a Burger King bathroom.

 

If Albom is going to use his column to complain about service, he should at least first study the master in this category.

Please See: Peter King/Mary Beth/yogurt pretzels/Delta Airlines