Can someone please explain to me why Wendy’s has those screens in the drive-thru where you are supposed to verify your order if the girl wearing the headset is going to be washing dishes or doing something else more important than keying my order into the cash register at the time it was placed? Tonight I ordered 2 Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers KETCHUP ONLY and a Medium Coke. By the time she finished scrubbing the chili pot or filling up the potoato rack, she had forgotten what I said or just didn’t care enough to remember and forgot the very important detail of “only ketchup.” So, I had to go into the store, elbow my way to the counter, wait impatiently for the manager to come within 20 feet of me, and look me in the eyes so I could explain what was wrong with my “express” order. I gave him the bag, which included (I assume) some napkins and my straw so when he replaced my sandwiches in a new bag I had neither requiring me to take the lid off my cup and narrowly avoid spilling my Coke all over the seats of my car. The ketchup dripped off the sandwich on to my yellow shirt, and I of course had no way of cleaning that up either, not that it would have mattered at that point anyway. Thanks, Wendy’s drive thru girl for topping my night!
I mean, all day long I sat in my office with no air conditioning because something is broken. I suspect it will either be very expensive to fix or very very very expensive. Either way, I’m not exactly prepared to fix it so I guess we’ll see what he says tomorrow, should he choose to come. I think he will, but with my track record lately, who knows. Thanks, air conditioner, for making me sweat all day in what should be the most comfortable place most people spend 50 minutes!
Then, almost home, I saw something that sent a chill down my spine and a knot in my throat. Standing next to the cemetery were two skinny, pale white figures with a handmade sign advertising “Miamitown Ghost Tours.” In the cemetery less than a mile from where I live. All week, I’ve heard weird things in my apartment, which I attributed to the weather and the upstairs neighbors but now I wonder if these Ichabod Crane lookalikes were out there stirring up the spirits of Jethro and Eunice, who were laid to rest sometime in 1823. Thanks, guys, for causing my apartment to get haunted!
I’m Kirk Sheppard . . . and that’s a bitter pill to swallow.