Illinoir

Before I get into this: please know that I am well aware that fast food is poison, bad business, and I really shouldn’t be patronizing these establishments. It’s convenient, a guilty pleasure, and I’m in the midst of moving so I’m not doing any cooking at all. Furthermore, I shouldn’t be surprised by these experiences in the least.

Three fast food transactions in a row have gone sour (or nearly sour) and I’m wondering what the hell is going on around here?

1. McDonald’s, two days ago. I order, and pay for, a double quarter pounder value meal. I get home and have received a single quarter pounder value meal. Now, I’m thankful that it was just one patty on that burger and not two, because it turned out to be enough food for me and I really shouldn’t be doubling those nasty things up, but still. It’s an extra buck, or whatever, and no dice. I know I should be checking the bag before driving off, but after so many drive-thru’s without a problem…
2. Wendy’s, last night. After the movie (see previous entry) I was hungry (for sushi, but where can you get sushi that late at night?) I go to Wendy’s. Instead of my usual (double….why do I always need the double?) I go for the enticing homestyle chicken strips. I ask for ranch sauce. Driving home, I am looking forward to chicken strips dipped in ranch sauce. Right? Right. Get home: no ranch sauce. What the crap? Not only that, but there’s only 3 smallish chicken strips in the box. This is worth $4.98? Did I mention they forgot the fucking sauce?
3. Philly’s Best, today. Go in, order a cheesesteak sandwich (is that the sound of hardening arteries I hear?) and don’t receive an order number as is their usual method. Other people have order numbers. I get no order number. A minute or two later, I go back to the counter, ask the guy my order number. Says he, “What did you order?” I tell him it’s a cheesesteak. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. Okey dokey. So, I sit and read News of the Weird and 10 minutes later, he’s got what is obviously a single cheesesteak sandwich. “Order 50? Order 50?” Perplexed, he puts the sandwich in the warming oven and asks other workers if they know who ordered it. He starts calling out the number again. I approach the counter. Before I can say anything, he asks, “What’s your order number?” “You didn’t give me one.” “Oh yeeeeah. I think this is yours.”

*sigh* Don’t get me started about: the XBOX game rented from Blockbuster that doesn’t work, the dog shit smeared on the lid of the dumpster, the real estate people gouging me for 3 months rent or a long term sit-and-wait pay-as-you-go, the woman at Blockbuster who took 15 minutes arguing about a late fee (understandable, actually), the Blockbuster employee not taking over at the register after seeing the line and the bottleneck, the woman not going through the proper line system at Blockbuster and then looking at me like I’m a maniac for not standing inches behind the woman mentioned above in order to secure my place in line, the annoying controls on Wallace & Gromit: Project Zoo, the weird feeling I’m getting from my keyboard right now or the clicking noise my car makes when I apply the brakes.

Don’t even get me started.