Remember when drive-thrus had a system? "Welcome to ___, may I take your order?" Then they repeated it back so nobody accidentally ordered regret with a side of confusion. Apparently, that era retired with typewriters.
I pulled up to the speaker. After a few aggressive bursts of static, a voice growled, "Order when you ready."
"Uh, yeah—2-piece original meal, Cole slaw, lemonade."
Before I could even consider adding fries, the speaker snapped, "Pull to the window."
Confused, I asked, "Can you repeat my order?"
Without hesitation she fired back, "If you can't remember what you ordered, that ain't my job. They don't pay me enough for all that extra. Pull around!"
Now, I enjoy living, so arguing with the person handling my food felt risky. I wasn't trying to discover the mysterious 12th herb and seasoning.
Still, I couldn't resist.
"Well, apparently I'm paying too much for this attitude. Can I get a refund on that part of the order?"
I drove off wondering when customer service became a competitive sport.