Fall 1989, Issue 3

From the Files of Benjamin Factor

by Gregory Waypa
Koala Staff

McDonalds

Limp men, in stupor-like states, sitting on bar stools. The smell of beer in the air, and the sound of a cue ball sinking the eight. It's six o'clock, Tuesday, Tiny's Bar and Grill.

Hey, does anybody remember this one; Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun?

I spent twenty of the most hellish minutes in a McDonalds once. And the problem is, I went back a week later. Tell me, who is the bigger moronic asshole, the guy who served me, or me for going back?
It was a Wednesday evening, I had just gotten off of work, and I did not feel like cooking anything for dinner. Now normally, I would have already opted for McDonalds, but this time I had a coupon for a Quarter Pounder with Cheese, Med Coke, and Fries all for $1.99, so my fate was sealed. And since, as I said earlier, it was evening, I had expected to wait along with the rest of the dinner crowd, but who knew what my destiny held?

I stepped up to the counter to place my order. Showing the guy behind the counter my coupon for the meal, I said that that's what I want. But, could he substitute the Quarter Pounder with Cheese for a Big Mac, and also add a Cheese Burger and small Fries? I was hungry.

He just stood there and gave me this dead blank stare. I looked back at him hoping to God that something I said had registered with him. I repeated my order again, slowly, making sure that after everything I said, he pushed a button on the register. He pressed the total key, smiled and told me that that will be $10.49: I almost paid him before I realized that that was wrong. I told him that was way too much. He looked at the register, looked at me, and then agreed. He then pressed some more buttons and said "That will be $9.56." Wrong. After fiddling with the buttons and wires coming out of the back of the register, he was back to $10.49. Then, after repeating my order for the sixth time, we got the price down to $4.03, and since I figured this was the lowest he was going to get, I agreed to pay it. Wait, it gets better.

I gave him a twenty. Mistake. He put the twenty in his cash drawer and took out all his fives and placed them on top of the drawer. He picked up a handful and counted out three. He counted the three again, picked up a fourth one, counted the four, placed the fourth one back, counted the three, counted them yet again, counted them one last time, and gave them to me.

Great, now 97¢. He didn't have enough quarters, so he had to get a roll of 'em out of another register. In opening them, he smashed the roll against the drawer, causing the quarters to fall to the floor and run rampant. After collecting them, he attempted to count out 97¢, first with three quarters, a dime and three pennies, then with three quarters, two dimes and a nickel, then with three quarters, a dime, a nickel, and two pennies. Finally, after three more attempts he found the proper coinage. But wait, it gets even better.

He then stared at me. I turned around and noticed that quite a line had formed behind me. So I stepped aside to allow the next person to order, hoping that he would get my food when he had the chance. Second Mistake.

The lady behind me ordered a coffee. Simple enough, right!?! Wrong. There was only enough in the pot to fill half a cup. So he makes another pot, and sits there, watching it perk. Five minutes later, he gives her the cup of coffee. She then asks for a lid, and after a minute of searching, he gives her one. She askers for cream, after pillaging the fridge, he comes to the conclusion that they have none. She tells him that it's in the box on the top, and sure enough, it's there. How the hell she knew. . . . She then asks for a bag, and he has to find the smallest one, God forbid he should give her a large one. Content, she leaves.

I then stand there hoping that he is going to get my food, and he helps the next people in line.
The next two guys look like hicks. They start up this conversation with the moron behind the counter about what kind of meat is on the McRib. The moron tells them it's a rib, but not only that, it's boneless. But the hick wanted to know if it's pork or beef, cause he doesn't like pork. His friend tells him that if he doesn't like it, he'll eat it. The moron still only knows that it's boneless rib. So then the hick finally decides to try it, by ordering two of 'em. Hold on, it gets better.

They then order on the rest of their meal, Fries, Cokes, etc. Then the register guy leaves, and I see him go to the back around the corner and out of sight. It has been ten minutes since I ordered. I don't believe this, I mean this is really blowing my mind, the guy hasn't gotten my food yet, worst, he has probably just gone home.

To my relief, he comes back and informs the two hicks that it is a boneless pork rib. Of course this does not sit well with the fear-of-pork hick, so he changes his order to two Big Macs. That move really confuses the hell out of the register moron causing another five minutes to be added to my sentence in hell.

Suddenly, the two hicks, without their food or paying, go and sit down. I figure that they must have been served by this multi-leveled genius behind the counter before, and knew how he worked. He then looks at me and says those all too famous words, "Can I help you?"

It took all my strength to keep from leaping over the counter and throttling his neck. With a smile on my face, I asked him about my food. "Which one are you?" is all he says. Just a sec, I swear, it gets better.
After explaining to him my order, he turns around to get my food with the body movement of a slave that has just been asked to build a pyramid.

I remind him that I want a Big Mac instead of the Quarter Pounder. He nods and puts a Quarter Pounder with Cheese into the bag and goes off to get my fries. On his way back I again remind him that I want the Big Mac instead of a Quarter Pounder. He stops and looks in the bag, discovers his mistake, and exchanges the Quarter Pounder for the Big Mac.

I remind him of the Cheese Burger, figuring the only way to get back at him is to make him run all over the damn place. He got me the Cheese Burger and gave me the bag telling me to have a nice day. "What about my Coke?" is my reply. He asked me what size. I told him that I didn't know, knowing full well that it was a medium. He decided to give me a large, then he changed his mind and gave me a medium. I didn't care, I wanted out. Therefore, I took it and ran.

Now here is the punch line: I swear to you, I think the guy was the manager, 'cause he had that shirt and tie combo that all the managers wear. Not only that, but he had the keys to the other registers; that was how he got the change.

Anyway, I'll see you around.

A Cartoon by Bill Robison